


Memories of Gat

by Felicia_Rottingstone



Series: The Heart of a Saint [4]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Baseball, Boss is Angry, Boss tries not to feel things so fucking hard, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Digital Art, Everyone is Bisexual, F/F, F/M, Johnny and Aisha are relationship goals, Johnny gets punched in the face, Johnny tries to be a gentleman so fucking hard, Memories, Mentions of past abuse, Multi, Purgatory gets renovated, Revenge, Shaundi and Pierce are really fucking smart, car theft, it still hurts to mention Carlos, living in a van down by the row, make-over, minor alcohol and drug use, technically a threesome, unexpected nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felicia_Rottingstone/pseuds/Felicia_Rottingstone
Summary: After a failed attempt at hooking up with her, Boss contemplates the possibility of Johnny being alive and shares with Shaundi the most impactful moments of her friendship with Johnny.
Relationships: Aisha & Female Boss (Saints Row), Boss (Saints Row)/Carlos Mendoza, Boss/Aisha (Saints Row), Boss/Shaundi (Saints Row), Female Boss (Saints Row) & Johnny Gat, Female Boss (Saints Row)/Johnny Gat, Female Boss/Shaundi (Saints Row)
Series: The Heart of a Saint [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1069103
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37





	1. Prologue: I Gotta Sleep With Shaundi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated because I forgot that Boss speaks Spanish, and I needed to actually let her speak a little Spanish.

“Then let’s make up for lost time,” Shaundi suggested, her voice husky and suggestive, her fingers weaving into mine. She led me to her corner of the ship, a makeshift room with boxes for walls in the cargo bay, and pulled me down next to her atop the pillows and blankets that covered her bed.

Ever since my simulation, I had been obsessed with the idea of being with Shaundi. When I told her it had driven me crazy that she had a million ex-boyfriends, I had been lying. I’m a liar. I always have been. What really drove me crazy was the realization that having her as my wife was some cruel torture program. No, the real torture was not knowing if the sweetness of her kisses in the simulation were anything like her kisses in real life.

They weren’t. In real life, Shaundi’s kisses were commanding and overwhelming. They didn’t give me warm, tingly feelings in my heart; they gave me warm, tingly feelings in my cunt. Fuck, Shaundi knew how to kiss. She worked her lips down the curve of my neck to the top of my zipper. It only took a moment to undo the zipper and give her my entire body to kiss.

I didn’t let her do all the work. I’m not an asshole. She had put on weight during my election campaign, her curves becoming more pronounced, and while I had noticed at the time the way her skirts had stretched more tightly across her ass and her tits strained against the buttons on her blazer, it wasn’t until I was able to feel her with my own two hands that I appreciated the ways she had matured in the past five years.

Shaundi had always been stunningly beautiful. There was a reason she’d had the dating show, and not me. That, and my habit of sticking a knife into the knee of every man who attempted to touch me. Even as a stoner 22-year-old, when I’d first met her, she’d had a look that belonged in Playboy magazine where everyone could pay her body the respect it's always deserved. But now, her beauty was unmatched by any human in existence. Granted, every woman still alive was either on our ship or a prisoner of the Zin, so there weren’t a lot of challengers. But the point still stood.

And here she was, the most beautiful human woman in the known universe, her lips latched onto my nipple, her legs entwined with mine, her sharp nails gripping my hair and holding me beneath her. I was one lucky bitch.

She moved against me, letting her own wetness coat my skin. I gently eased a finger inside her and pressed against her g-spot, rubbing the collection of nerves until she moaned in pleasure. In no time at all, I had her worked into a frenzy, begging me for more. I shifted beneath her, moving down between her legs until she was sitting on my face, and tasted her. 

Then, somehow, it all fell apart. Shaundi tasted delicious. Of course she did. And I loved eating out a woman until her body was wracked with an orgasm. Particularly if that woman was a hot, powerful, commanding woman who had me pinned beneath her. Only being tied up would have made the moment more perfect. And yet, not five minutes in, I got bored. 

The thing about alien invasions that no one thinks about is how much they fuck up your sex life. As the President of the United States, I had a steady supply of beautiful women in my bed, all eager to bring my most fucked up fantasies to life. Not a single one was someone I cared about. I hadn't fucked someone I actually liked since… Well, since Steelport. And that had ended… Not badly, per se, but… There was a reason Viola DeWynter had campaigned for my opponent. 

But I had still been getting laid on the regular. Then, that ugly motherfucker comes and busts up my crib, kidnaps my friends, and puts me in a simulation where I have to wear fucking skirts. And I hadn't had sex since. 

So, when the universe’s most beautiful woman happily agreed to end my dry spell, it should have been the night of my fucking life. But it wasn't. And apparently, it wasn't for her either. She sighed. Loudly. 

“Oh, I'm sorry, is oral pleasure not pleasing enough?” I asked her, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I pushed her off me. To her credit, she had the good sense to look sheepish. 

“I'm sorry,” she apologized, her tone genuine. “You're very good, it's just not what I thought it would be.”

“You never been with a woman?” I questioned, my eyebrows rising in surprise. She shook her head. 

“It's not that. I just realized it was someone else I wanted to be doing it with.” 

“Pierce?” 

“God, no.” She rolled her eyes at my smirk. “I'd rather have sex with Zinyak than Pierce.”

Shaundi shifted until she was lying on her back next to me, staring up at the ceiling of the spaceship. I shouldn't have been giving her shit, considering I wasn't feeling it either. I quietly waited for her to keep talking, listening to the faint rumbling of the engine underneath us. 

“Have you ever wanted to have sex with someone who was dead?” she finally asked. 

“Like necrophilia? Usually I try not to kink shame, but that's pretty fucking gross, Shaundi.” She half-heartedly smacked my shoulder with her knuckles. 

“No, I mean, do you ever wish someone was alive so you could have sex with them?”

That was an altogether different matter. There were many people I wished were still alive. Viola was probably dead now, and even after everything that happened, I wished she weren't. I definitely wished I could have had sex with her one more time, but it wasn't her death standing in my way. It was my inability to love her the way she wanted. 

Then there was Carlos, the closest I had ever come to truly being in love. I didn't give a fuck if I could have sex with him again, I just wanted to see him. The days where his death didn't sit like an unhealing wound upon the most fragile places in my soul were few and far between. I would turn the universe inside out if I thought it would bring him back. 

So, I guess the answer was no, but I didn't think that was what Shaundi was looking for, so I lied. “Sure.” 

“Sometimes it feels like it's a cruel joke the universe played on us,” she continued. “Everything we've done, and I still can't have the one thing I always wanted.”

“Who did you want?” 

“Johnny.” 

“Johnny _no está jodidamente muerto_ ,” I snapped. The topic of his fatality had become a sore subject the past few weeks. I admit, I had been wrong when I thought Shaundi's simulation was Johnny's. But I knew he had to be in there somewhere. It didn't make sense for him to _not_ be one of the people abducted; he was the baddest motherfucker on the face of the planet, apart from me, and I absolutely, 100% was certain that Zinyak abducted him. He just must have done it a few years before the rest of us. 

No one else believed me. Or they did and didn't want to rescue him. Stupid fucking cowards. I had convinced Kinzie to keep looking, anyway. 

“We're going to find him,” I reassured Shaundi. 

“I hope you're right,” she said. “But if I start hoping, thinking I'm going to see him again, and then I don't, it will be devastating.”

“It never made sense to me that he would die,” I admitted. “I think I've never really believed he was gone for good. I've seen him through too much shit. Plus, partners like us can't be broken up. Not forever. So I have to find him.” 

“I wish I had your faith,” Shaundi sighed, trying to smile, but failing. Then her expression turned thoughtful, and she rolled to her side to face me. “You know, I've always found it surprising the two of you never fell in love.” 

“Look, not every story needs to be about romance. I do love Johnny, but it's not about some sort of heteronormative bullshit. Him and I are just soul mates, that's all. It's got nothing to do with being in love.” I wasn't sure that made sense, entirely, but it was difficult to describe my and Johnny's relationship to someone who wasn't a part of it, who didn't feel it. 

“But you're both hot, and you both have sex with almost everyone. You've really never even been naked with him?” 

“Well…” Johnny and I had been friends for a long time. And some of those years I was even conscious for. A lot of things had happened between us in that time. “Maybe he's seen my tits a few times.”

“Really?” Shaundi exclaimed, sitting up. I was afraid she'd be jealous, but she just looked curious and interested. 

“You know, he and I weren't instant friends,” I began. “When I first joined, I was running from a past full of aggressive men with no boundaries. And Johnny was an aggressive dude.”

“When did that start to change?” she asked. 

“ _Nunca_. He will always be an aggressive, loud asshole.” 

“No, I mean the part about you two being friends?” she clarified, rolling her eyes. 

“Probably about the time he realized I wasn't a guy.” 

“What?” 

I laughed and began to tell her about my canonization. I had been a 17-year-old _pendeja_ with hair shorter than most men and a love affair with baggy clothes. It wasn't entirely his fault. I worked really hard to hide my tits. So when he finally saw them, he was a bit confused. 

“It all started when he accidentally discovered I was homeless…”


	2. Memory One: A Place To Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny helps Playa find stable housing and accidentally sees her tits, changing everything he thought he knew about her.

“Yo, what the fuck?” Johnny asked. He had a point.

I was sleeping in a van. It wasn’t even my van. It was a broken-down, rusty pile of rubbish someone had abandoned in a parking lot after relieving it of its wheels. It didn’t have windows. I looked around my makeshift bed. There was a blanket I had stolen from the church. A pile of t-shirts I had fished out of a dumpster. A couch cushion I salvaged from the curb. All of it was gross, either dirty, rotten, or moldy. 

“Have you seriously been living in this shithole?” he demanded. “Do you realize how stupid that is? Anyone could roll up on you and end you while you’re fucking unconscious.” 

I fished my pistol out from under the couch cushion, my makeshift pillow, and showed him. He rolled his eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Aren’t you getting paid?”

I nodded. I was pretty good at convincing hoes to leave their pimp, especially when I made my argument by beating the shit out of the guy. Seeing a five and a half foot Filipino teenager pummel a full-grown man would give anyone the confidence to find new employment. The chop shop was also keeping cash in my pockets. I brought them more cars than they knew what to do with.

“So what then?” he pressed. “You can’t find an apartment?”

I looked away from him, my cheeks flushing hot. How the fuck was I supposed to get a crib when I didn’t have a legal ID, I wasn’t even a legal adult, and I couldn’t prove I had employment. I’d have to pay under the table, and that would require me to talk, which was something I was having difficulty with. And since I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t explain any of that to Johnny, even if I wanted to. Which I didn’t.

When I turned back to look at him again, he was leaning against the open window, his head propped on his hand, looking at me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll find you a place, off the books. But you'll owe me.”

Johnny had me a crib by the end of the day. It was barely an improvement over the van, but the windows had glass and the door locked and there was a garage, just in case I ever boosted a car I wanted to keep. The bed was small, but it was a real bed, with a real mattress that, while stained, wasn’t infested, wet, or ripped. There was even running water, and when I turned on the shower, clean, clear, hot water flowed out. 

“Hey, when was the last time you took a shower?” Johnny asked, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the frame of the bathroom door. I shrugged. I couldn't remember. 

“Look, kid, you ain't on the streets anymore. If you're gonna be a Saint, you gotta at least smell like one. Your natural odor ain't exactly perfume.”

I should have been embarrassed, probably, but it didn't bother me at the time. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” my adoptive mother used to say as she would pace my room with a white glove, looking for a single spec of dirt that would allow her to punish me. When I left, I said fuck you to her, her god, and everything she ever told me was godly. That included personal hygiene. But for Johnny, being clean was a matter of respect, not morality, and apparently my scent was a little disrespectful to his nose. 

“Take a fucking shower, dude. Please.” I turned the water back on, but then realized I didn't have anything to wash with. I didn't even have towels or a change of clothes. I looked at Johnny, staring at me with exasperation, and that was when I started to feel shame. Not because I wasn't clean, but because I didn't even have anything to clean with. I had 15 grand hidden in places only I could get to, but I didn't have a towel, a bar of soap, or a clean shirt. I was still living like the homeless teenager I had been before I joined the Saints, hoarding my money instead of spending it, as if I were banking on a catastrophe happening. 

Johnny seemed to understand and sighed. “Look, you just stand under the water, and I'll grab my gym bag out of my car. You can use the shit in there today, but man, you gotta go shopping and get shit to take care of yourself. The Vice Kings aren't gonna be run out of town by the smelly, greasy kid from the Row.”

I nodded and closed the door to the bathroom as he headed outside. I quickly stripped and stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind me. 

The hot water felt heavenly. I had forgotten what a shower felt like, the water beating down on me, the rush of it drowning out all other sounds. I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling at the short strands until they were almost standing up; the slight curl to them meant I'd never get a mohawk. The heat of the water loosened the muscles in my shoulders, and I started to relax. 

I heard Johnny open the bathroom door and set his bag on the toilet before rummaging around in it. 

“Okay, I got body wash, 2-In-1 shampoo and conditioner, a washcloth, a towel, a razor, some hair gel, and deodorant,” he informed me, then pulled open the shower curtain. 

I don't know who was more shocked. I was stunned he would just open the shower on someone naked, especially his female… friend? Were we friends? He, too, seemed shocked as his eyes fixed on my breasts, which I had been too startled to cover. The moment stretched on for too long: me staring at him in outrage, him leering at my tits, his mouth open like a fucking asshole. Then, I punched him square in the face. 

Johnny staggered back, one hand clutching his nose, now gushing blood, the other flailing for something to help him keep his balance. He found the shower curtain, but in his attempt to right himself with it, he pulled it and the rod it hung on from its spot wedged between walls. Now I was even more exposed, as both Johnny and the curtain lay in a heap on the floor. I made a guttural sound of anger deep in my throat, stepped out of the tub, over him, grasped him by the collar of his shirt, and dragged him out of the bathroom. He was a heavy motherfucker, but I was pissed, and I was much stronger than I looked. Then I closed and locked the door, and went to take my shower. 

I methodically cleaned every inch of my body, including my newly bruised knuckles, scrubbing and lathering until the water started to turn cold. When I had finished, I rooted around in Johnny's gym bag and found a pair of basketball shorts and a black muscle shirt. The shorts were so big they almost fell right off, but I rolled them down until the elastic was stretched enough to hold them above my hips. The shirt, too, was too big, but that I was okay with. Baggy shirts hid the boobs that Johnny had been so desperate to see. If I hunched my shoulders, like I usually did, no one would notice them. 

When I finally opened the door, Johnny scrambled to his feet from where he had been sitting on my shitty little bed. I crossed my arms and glared at him. His face was already bruising, the blood mostly cleaned off, and one lens in his glasses was cracked, but I didn't feel bad. He deserved it, and he needed to know I wouldn't hesitate to punch him again. 

“Look Playa, I'm sorry,” he began, his hands up defensively. “I shouldn't have just pulled the curtain open. My bad. But in my defense, I didn't know you had tits.” 

I curled my upper lip and scoffed at him in disbelief. What kind of stupid motherfucker was he? Yes, I had short hair and dressed in baggy clothes, but I wasn't trying to pass as a guy. I was trying to make sure I didn't attract unwanted sexual attention. No way he was dumb enough to not know the difference. 

“I swear to god,” he defended himself. “I'm not a fucking creep. I don't go peeking at the bodies of women who didn't volunteer for a show. If I want to see tits, I'll go to a strip club, or a brothel.” He put his hands down, sighed, and sat back down on the bed. 

I didn't know if I entirely believed him, but if he was going to continue pushing lines, he wouldn't be doing it from a seated position across the room. Men who wanted more than I would give always liked to get up close and personal, making it harder to fight back. 

“When Julius said there was a new guy, I thought he meant a guy,” he continued. “I mean, now that I know, yeah, I can see it-them. But I wasn't expecting to see a girl, so I didn't. I promise, I won't look at you again, if you don't want me to.” 

I sighed deeply, trying to decide what to do. He seemed genuine, so kicking his ass was probably an overreaction. I could just kick him out, but since he had gotten me a place to kick him out of, that seemed too much like punishing a kind gesture. I stared at him intently as I deliberated, and he met my gaze, his expression soft and non-threatening. Finally, I nodded at him.

“Look, uh, let's say we're even for this place, good?” he asked. I nodded again. “You know, you throw a good punch. If you ever want to help out with the Vice Kings, I wouldn't say no to another badass on the team.”

\------------------

“So, just like that, you two were best friends, huh?” Shaundi asked as I finished up. 

“We really bonded over our takedown of the Kings. Johnny saw pretty early on how much of a psychopath I was at that time, and he appreciated that.”

“Are you implying you're not a psychopath now?” Shaundi laughed. “You know all that propaganda about you being reformed was just that: propaganda, right?”

“Hey, I am going to save the human race. Would a psychopath do that?” 

Shaundi made a face at me. “You're not really doing this to save the human race, though. You're doing it for revenge.” 

As usual, Shaundi was right, but I didn't want to admit it. “I think that it will be up to future historians to say whether I'm the hero of this story or not, and when I kill Zinyak, all the statues I erect in my honor will let help them come to the correct conclusion.” 

Shaundi laughed. She pulled a blanket tighter around her and rolled onto her back. We were both silent for a moment. I thought of murdering Zinyak. I wasn't sure how I wanted to do it: blow him up, cut him up, or simply rip out his spine? Such tough decisions. 

“I still don't understand, though,” Shaundi interrupted. “Once he knew you were a girl, and he already liked you, and he wasn't technically with Aisha at that time… you really never hooked up?”

“Well…” 

“You did?” 

“Not exactly.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“I turned 18 a little while after we took out Tonya. Johnny said he wanted to do something special for my birthday…”


	3. Memory Two: I Stan Aisha Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playa's 18th birthday brings about new experiences.

I wasn't going to tell anyone when my birthday was, but the idea of passing this benchmark in total silence was depressingly unbearable. And Johnny's calendar always laid open on his desk. He didn't really use it as intended, of course. It was full of notes swearing at him to buy more ammo, call Aisha, teach that one motherfucker a lesson. I used my neatest, most feminine cursive to write, “Playa turns 18,” on my birthday. 

It took him weeks to notice it. By that time, it was six days past my birthday. I had spent the actual day riding around with Troy, listening to him complain about how out of control everything was getting. I didn't really see his point, and every time he said something particularly boy-scout-ish, I stuck my pistol out the window and fired at random. He didn't like that so much, and I eventually tired of his complaints and ditched him in Prawn Court, choosing instead to walk home. Still, it wasn't the worst birthday I'd ever had. 

When Johnny finally noticed the date, he came barreling into the vestibule of the church, looking for me. 

“Were you seriously going to let me pass it by?” he accused. I raised one eyebrow and shrugged. I had already accepted the futility of celebrating my aging. I was paperless, anyway, so it wasn't like I could have done anything normal 18-year-olds do, like buy a pack of smokes just to prove they can. Johnny wasn't impressed by my nonchalance. 

“Go home, put on whatever fancy clothes you got, and be ready for me in an hour. We are celebrating in style, Playa,” he informed me. Then he grinned, which looked uncanny on him, and literally pushed me out of the church. 

I couldn't even imagine what he had planned that I would need to dress up for. His idea of dinner out was Freckle Bitches. It wasn't like he'd take me to a strip club for the first time; I already visited those. But any downtown club seemed at odds with Johnny's style and personality. And anyway, it wasn't like I had anything really fancy. My wardrobe had grown in the six months I'd lived in my shitty crib in the Row, but most of it was practical apparel. I had jeans and sweatpants, the pair of basketball shorts I'd confiscated from Johnny, a dozen or so t-shirts, mostly purple and black, and two or three baggy button-ups. The nicest one I had was black silk, woven in a checkerboard pattern. I put that on, along with my darkest pair of jeans but I didn't look dressed up. Tucked in, the clothes made me look like a teenage boy being forced to attend church. Untucked, I looked like a wannabe thug. 

Last time I’d dressed up had been over a year before, for the last Christmas I spent with my adopted family. I’d worn a beautiful burgundy dress that made me feel more like a woman than a girl. My adopted mother berated me for the minuscule amount of cleavage it showed and told me I was never allowed to wear it again. Later that night, the dress had been ruined by the unwanted hands of one of my adoptive father's friends. I had set the dress on fire after that. 

I pushed the uncomfortable memory from my mind and waited for Johnny to come get me. He pulled up exactly on the hour and called for me to get into the car. Then he noticed what I was wearing. 

“Uh, no offense, but you look like shit,” he said. “That's really the best you have?” 

I shrugged. He sighed. 

“Okay, change of plans,” he informed me, pulling a u-turn in the middle of the street. “You're an adult, you gotta learn to dress like an adult.”

I scowled disdainfully at him. What was the point of dressing like an adult when all I did was drive stolen cars and shoot people? 

“Don't give me that face, you need this,” he chided. “I need this. Can't have my number 2 looking like someone's unfortunate Sims character. I've got a reputation, and you're not fucking it up. Not if I can help it.” 

I snorted and rolled my eyes. 

“What, you saying you don't want to be my number 2?” he asked. I raised my eyebrows, took the gun out of the waistband of my jeans, leaned out the window as far as I could, and shot three Rollerz clustered on the corner as we drove by. The bullets hit them neatly in their skulls, one right after the other. Witnesses screamed. Johnny chuckled. 

“Okay, okay, I get it. We're equals.” He turned for the suburbs. “What do you say to partners?” 

A smile tugged at the left side of my mouth. I liked that idea. Johnny and me, two gun-toting psychopaths, mowing down whoever stood in our way. Individually, we were formidable. When we teamed up, we were unstoppable, as the Vice Kings had recently discovered. 

Johnny finally pulled into the driveway of a house I had never seen before. It identically matched the other half-dozen on the block, and I began to get nervous. Bad shit went down in the suburbs. Normal-looking houses held horrific secrets inside all the time. 

Johnny knocked confidently on the door. Aisha answered. 

“Johnny!” she exclaimed, initially excited, and embraced him. Then she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What are you doing here?” 

I wasn't an envious person by nature, but I was envious of Johnny. Aisha was insanely talented, but she was also drop-dead gorgeous. I wasn't flat, under my baggy shirts and sports bras, but Aisha had real curves. The curves of a fully matured woman. Her shiny braids hung to her full hips, and she never passed an opportunity to display her toned and defined abs by wearing a tube-top or skin-tight blouse. Johnny was decent enough looking, but no way in hell was he attractive enough to land a woman like Aisha. If I wasn't already mostly mute, she would have left me speechless every time I saw her. 

Johnny didn’t really deserve her, but for some reason, she was smitten with him. Even though their relationship was a bit strained, it was clear she was still madly in love with him, and Johnny just assumed that taking out the Vice Kings meant they were back together. I figured he had a bit more sucking up to do before she completely forgave him, but by the looks of it, he was almost there.

“Playa,” she squealed, pulling herself from Johnny's arms and turning to me, her greeting slightly more enthusiastic than the one she had given him. “What are you two doing here?” 

“Well, Playa here recently turned 18.”

“Happy birthday,” she purred. “You’re finally an adult, huh? I would have never guessed you’re so young.”

“Yeah, and I thought, why not take her out, do something special? So I tell her to dress up, put on her nicest clothes. And this is the shit she chooses to wear.” Johnny gestured to me as if I was wearing a chicken costume. I glowered at him. He was making this into a bigger deal than it was. 

“It's, um… The shirt looks… Silk?” Aisha's attempt to be kind and grasp for a compliment hurt worse than Johnny's criticism. My cheeks burned red. 

“I was thinking, with you cooped up in this house and all, maybe you could give her a little makeover. Show her how to dress and shit,” Johnny asked. Aisha turned to me and pursed her lips, assessing me the same way I assessed a car: looking for signs of hidden potential. 

“You know, I think I can make it work,” she confirmed and invited us in. 

Johnny made himself comfortable on her couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table and turning on the TV while Aisha ushered me up the stairs and into a room. I had assumed it was going to be her bedroom, but to my surprise, it was her closet. Or rather, her closet was a bedroom. She had so many clothes, shoes, and jewelry that they needed their own space. In addition to the room’s actual closet, where fancy formal dresses hung, there were three floor-to-ceiling shoe racks, an entire wall of shelves for pants, shorts, and foldable shirts and skirts, pull out racks packed with every type of outfit, and a central dais that displayed what appeared to be the entire inventory of On Thin Ice.

“ _ La hostia _ ,” I exclaimed, my voice filled with awe at the sheer volume of options.

“You talk!” she gasped. “I thought Johnny was making it up, what you said about Tonya. Or reading real hard into your facial expressions.”

I shrugged. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but my surprise got the better of me. Not many people in Stillwater had heard me talk, and I liked it that way. Silence could be a powerful tool. People read into my expression only what they were willing to hear, and that was a useful tool for learning their motivations. Plus, silence had saved my life more than once, since long before I joined the Saints, and my mind still cringed when I heard my own voice, as if I would be instantly punished for it. But the more power I gained, the more violence I was rewarded for, the less risky speaking became. Here, I felt as safe as I could be.

“C’mon, now, you can’t go mute again so fast!” Aisha complained when I didn’t say anything further. I smiled at her and started fingering the silks, cottons, leathers, and furs in her collections. She sighed. “Fine, but I’m going to get you to talk more tonight, just you wait.”

Aisha watched as I pawed through her clothes. She told me to pull out whatever I liked, but I didn’t do much more than examine the garments. They were all impossibly foreign to me. Too short, too fragile, too form-fitting, too strappy. They were undoubtedly Aisha’s, but I struggled to imagine myself in a single one. Eventually, I turned back to her and shrugged.

“You don’t like my clothes?” she pouted. I opened my mouth, but couldn’t think of what to say. I did like them. I just didn’t like them for me. 

“They’re… sexy,” I finally muttered. I was rewarded by a full-faced smile beaming at me.

“See, I told you you’d talk,” she praised. “But I see your point. Too sexy for you. You want men to fear you, not fawn over you. Just as well. You’re a little too skinny to fill most of this stuff out the way I do.”

Aisha dug through a few hidden drawers and finally came back with a purple leather corset. She handed it to me, then went to the formal dresses, dug to the back, and pulled out a black pant suit. The slacks were cropped short, and the ¾ sleeves on the blazer were ruched. Both had purple lace cutouts as embellishments.

“I wore this the day I signed my record deal at Kingdom Come,” she explained. “I wanted to feel as important as everyone else at the table. Always felt like I was playing dress-up, though. You, however, might be more comfortable in it than anything else I’ve got. It will definitely make you look more put-together than what you’ve got so far, especially with this corset underneath. Look, it’s steel boned, not that cheap plastic shit you usually see.”

She pushed the items at me and waited expectantly until I started to undress. It made me nervous to be naked in front of her. I felt like I was being inspected, but she smiled the whole time, her warmth slowly soothing my nerves. When it came to the corset, she helped me latch the busk and pull the laces tight, explaining the seasoning process she had gone through to make sure it would be comfortable. I expected it to make me feel constrained, but instead I felt supported. It was a nice sensation. When she was done, she put the jacket on me and guided me to the mirror on the door.

“Look at that, you fill out the cups better than I thought you would,” she observed, running her finger along my exposed cleavage. A shiver ran down my spine, and I suddenly felt hot. “Who would have known these babies were hiding under those baggy clothes?”

I didn’t mention to her that her on-again-off-again boyfriend knew.

The next step on my makeover journey was the spacious bathroom. Aisha used pomade to coax my hair up and forward, using the natural curl to create a Superman-esq do. Then came the makeup, which included eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow, and something called a lip stain that perfectly matched the hue of the corset. Along the way, she instructed me in technique, clearly expecting me to continue the skills.

Finally, when she had decided I looked acceptable, a pair of glittering purple heels were added to the ensemble, and I was presented to Johnny.

“It’s about damn ti-.” Johnny’s mouth hung open as he cut off mid-sentence. “Oh.”

“Do you like it?” Aisha asked. “I wanted her to feel comfortable but also look like a badass.”

“She’s...she looks like a badass, alright,” Johnny agreed. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at me in disbelief. Part of me wanted to shrink from his gaze, but part of me wanted to take a step closer, fold my arms across my chest, and challenge him to say anything about it. I didn’t know how I wanted him to react, but I was sure whatever he said would irk me.

“Are you sure that’s our girl?” he asked, cocking his head to look at me from a different angle. “This one’s got… curves.”

I rolled my eyes. He had already seen me naked. He knew what curves I had.

“It’s surprising what was hiding under her baggy clothes,” Aisha commented. “She could probably walk into the church and no one would recognize her for a good few moments.”

“Yeah, until she opened her mouth and didn’t talk,” Johnny chuckled. “Well, I guess she’s acceptable to take out in public now. Let’s go get our celebration on!” 

I followed Johnny to the door as he said his goodbyes to Aisha, but before I could make it through the threshold, I had second thoughts. I wasn’t a fan of crowded places. I didn’t like strangers. The only people I had any interest in spending any time with, apart from Lin, were already in this house. Aisha had speakers to play music. We could order pizza. There was undoubtedly alcohol in the fridge. What better celebration could we have than right here? I stopped moving forward.

“Yo, you coming Playa, or what?”

I looked at Aisha, then back at Johnny.

“She can’t come, she’s supposed to be dead,” he said, misreading my expression. I huffed out a breath.

“I wanna stay,” I told him.

“Are you fucking with me?” he asked. “I got you all dressed up-”

“ _ I _ got her all dressed up,” Aisha corrected.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant, and now you don’t want to go out?”

I folded my arms and set my jaw in determination. His eyes flickered down to my cleavage briefly before a red flush crept onto his cheeks. I raised one eyebrow, letting him know that I’d caught the glance, and he groaned in annoyance, casting his eyes to the ceiling. Aisha came around and draped one graceful arm over my shoulders.

“How come all the women in my life are so damn stubborn?”

“Don’t worry, Playa,” Aisha purred in my ear. “We’ll show you a good time right here.” 

It was one of the best nights I’d ever had. Aisha dug out a few bottles of sweet red wine, and we got drunk dancing to her music right there in the living room. Johnny only sulked for a few minutes, then enjoyed the show as the two most important women in his life swayed and grinded against each other. Suit jackets and shoes were eventually discarded, and after a line or two of cocaine, the three of us somehow ended up in a pile on Aisha’s bed. 

“What’s one thing you want to do now that you’re legal? Something you haven’t done before?” Aisha asked me, running the nails of one hand gently up and down my arm. She was laying between Johnny’s spread legs, her head on his chest, while I rested my head in her lap. 

“I want to have sex with someone I like,” I answered. Her brows came together in sympathy, and Johnny’s lips tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“Who do you like, baby girl?” Aisha asked, her hand coming to rest on my cheek. Her touch was warm, and she smelled like tropical fruit.

“You and Johnny,” I responded. The alcohol and narcotics had removed the staunch filter that usually rested between my brain and my mouth, and I was too relaxed to regret the words as they slipped out of my mouth. I could feel the two of them collectively hold their breaths as they exchanged surprised looks.

“Well, shit, we can do that,” Johnny exhaled. Aisha smacked him.

“Johnny!”

“C’mon, it’s her birthday,” he argued. “She deserves something nice, and you are the nicest thing around.”

He buried his face into the crook of her neck and bit it. She squealed in response. I smiled. 

I don’t remember who made the first move, me or her. All I remember is that one minute I was looking up at them, envious of the look they were giving each other, and the next my eyes were closed as Aisha’s lips pressed into mine. They were soft and tasted of her coconut lip gloss. We were both hesitant at first, like teenagers who didn’t quite know what kissing was yet. I guess I sort of was. My hands found their way to her neck and settled on her warm skin. Hers stroked my arm, then my side, then my hip.

At first, Johnny was content to sit back and watch. About the time we started to shed what was left of our clothes, however, he remembered that he had hands and lips and wanted to use them.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, his voice low and husky. “But I’m starting to feel a little left out.” 

I ignored him, my mouth having discovered the dip at the bottom of Aisha’s neck.

“Nothing’s stopping you from joining us,” she purred, her voice vibrating through me.

“Oh, believe me, I want to,” he clarified. “But before I jump in, I want to know exactly what it is I can and can’t do. Making a misstep during a threesome is not how I’d like to die.”

Aisha giggled, and even I paused long enough to grin at him.

“I don’t mind if you touch her,” she assured him. “I know you’re still mine. And besides, it’s her birthday.”

Johnny looked at me, hesitancy still in his eyes. I met his gaze, and for the first time that night, felt nervous. Aisha touching me was one thing, but she was soft and sweet and gentle. Johnny was twice my size and twice as strong, which meant any boundaries I set were mere suggestions. If he decided to move past them, I wouldn’t be able to stop him.

Of course, Johnny also knew that I’d kill him if he ever tried anything, and even if he didn’t, he wasn’t the type of man that got off on overpowering women against their will. But he could. And that seemed to matter to me.

At my frown, Johnny’s hand froze, hovering above my leg. I held my breath, waiting to see if he’d put it down, if he’d try to push past what he knew I was willing to do. Instead, his hand came down on the bed next to me, and he shifted to loom over us both.

“See, I was thinking, Playa likes a little competition, right?” He lifted an eyebrow at me, and I narrowed my gaze in response. He placed a kiss on Aisha’s shoulder before continuing. “Wouldn’t it be fun to see which of us can get you off more times?”

“Johnny!” Aisha squealed, but the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “She just turned 18. You really think that’s a fair competition?”

He looked at me, teeth bared in challenge. I returned the smile and nodded. 

I don’t remember who won. We lost count after two each. I do remember that he never so much as brushed up against me the whole night, save the high five we shared once Aisha had passed out. I also remember that he wasn’t lying about his 8-inch cock.

\------------------

“I can’t believe you had sex with Aisha Tyler,” Shaundi said, her voice more wistful than accusatory. “I only met her a few times, back in the day, but she and Johnny always seemed completely devoted to each other.”

“They were,” I agreed. “In their own special way. It only happened the once, anyway. After that, things started to get real busy, and then I got blown up.”

“Busy how?”

“We’d taken over the city. That meant we had to run the city. And cops started sniffing around more and we couldn’t figure out why, and Dex was getting shifty, and Troy was whining more than usual. I should have paid more attention to that, I suppose, but I was distracted by being Julius’ right-hand man.”

“You and Johnny never talked about it?”

“Talk about what? The fact that I fucked his girlfriend better than he did? No.”

“And he wasn’t jealous about it?”

“Not really, I don’t think. He wasn’t even jealous that Julius was relying on me more than him.”

“Maybe he was just hiding it?”

“No.  _ That _ we talked about. Last time I saw him before I got torched, actually…”


	4. Memory Three: Two Saints on Top of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss recounts her promotion to Julius' righthand man and her first taste of true power.

I was wearing a dress made of purple crushed velvet. I remember that, because I never wore dresses. But I hadn’t been the one to buy the dress; Julius had. I hadn’t picked out the restaurant, either, or the night. I went along with it because… I don’t know. Maybe I was riding the high from clearing out the last of the rival gangs. Maybe I was attempting to embrace my sexuality. Most likely, though, I still looked up to Julius, still trusted him. Still wanted him to dote on me like a favored child. That’s fucking pathetic, isn’t it. 

I don’t remember which restaurant it was, but it was one of those really fancy places that have dress codes, which was how Julius talked me into wearing the dress. I wasn’t the only one dressed up, either. Johnny, Dex, and Troy were all there in crisp, pressed suits. I envied their permission to wear pants.

“Well, don’t you clean up nice,” Julius remarked as I approached, the high slit of the dress working to turn the heads of the four men around the table.

“How come you didn’t say I looked nice?” Johnny whined. Troy smacked the back of his head.

Julius pulled out a white-backed dining chair, and I slid into it, conscious of the attention I was drawing. My cheeks burned in embarrassment, and I felt the sudden urge to ask Johnny for his jacket to cover up. Instead, I bit the inside of my lips and avoided making eye contact with any of them. Julius squeezed my bare shoulder and took his own seat.

“Who’s the sixth seat for, Julius?” Dex asked after they’d all taken their places.

“Lin.”

A hush fell over the table. What had been just an empty chair only moments before now held the heavy weight of her absence. I rubbed my stomach where freshly healed bullet wounds were forming into scars.

“She should fucking be here,” Johnny growled. Troy gritted his teeth. Dex nodded.

“But she’s not. And we are. And we’re here to celebrate the achievement that she helped to bring about,” Julius said. A waiter appeared at his elbow and began to pour champagne for each of us. “When we started out, this seemed like an impossible task. Now look at us. The Vice Kings, Los Carnales, the Rollerz, all gone. Because of us. The city is a safer place because of us.”

He raised his glass of champagne and we all matched his motion. Then he looked right at me.

“We wouldn’t have done this without you, Playa,” he said, his voice warm and approving. I gave him a tight smile, uncomfortable with the praise but craving it all the same. “You’ve become a force to be feared by our enemies, and for me, you’ve become an invaluable soldier.”

“What are we, chopped ducks?” Johnny asked, only half joking.

“Chopped liver,” Dex corrected.

“What?”

“Chopped liver, not chopped ducks. Who says chopped ducks?”

“Boys,” Julius cautioned. “You’ll get your moment. But right now, it’s for her. To the Saints.” He raised his glass higher. “To cleaning up this town.” He looked back at me, inclining his head. “And to you.”

He drank. Johnny, Troy, and Dex drank. I followed suit, chugging my glass, the bubbles burning as they went down. Immediately, a waiter appeared to refill it.

“So what now?” asked Troy. “What’s the plan now that the other gangs are no more?”

“I’ve got a couple ideas,” Dex piped up. “Both for cementing our control and increasing revenue.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” Julius chuckled. “Tonight is about celebrating what we’ve accomplished. We can get back to business tomorrow.”

Both Dex and Troy frowned, but I didn’t mind. I’d never gotten to think about the future before, and I didn’t know where to begin. It was much easier living in the present, reveling in the pleasures of the moment. I downed a second glass, then a third, and tuned out the conversation between everyone else. As a fourth was being poured, Julius’ phone chimed.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, scooting his chair back after looking at the caller ID. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Once he was out of earshot, Troy turned to me. “So how does it feel to know you’re Julius' most trusted lieutenant?”

He tried to say it casually, but there was something in his voice that was tight and tense. Was he jealous? Or just concerned I couldn’t handle the responsibility?

“Great,” I responded, my voice flat and quiet.

Dex frowned, his sharp, narrow eyes landing on me with incredulity. “You really think that because you killed a few gang bangers, you really deserve the power Julius has given you. I mean, you’re barely more than a brutal hitman.”

“Oh, fuck you, Dex,” Johnny snapped. “She’s more than proven she knows what she’s doing. She didn’t just kill them. She fucking obliterated them.”

“Yeah, using my plans,” he retorted.

“Plans that would have failed if anyone else had tried them. Face it, she’s the all-star. We’re just her backup dancers. And I, for one, look great in a pair of tights.”

Dex still had his eyes on me, but I was saved from having to defend myself anymore by Julius’s reappearance.

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got someone I need to meet up with,” he apologized, not bothering to sit down. “But stay. The meal has already been paid for, and it’d be a shame for it to go to waste.”

Then he was gone. Troy followed shortly after, a text message informing him of a situation he needed to deal with ASAP. With only Johnny and myself as company, Dex found little reason to remain and excused himself as well.

“Ah, good riddance,” Johnny said, scowling at Dex’s retreating back. “Jealous assholes ruining the night. Plus, now I can eat their food.” He pulled Dex’s abandoned plate toward himself.

“They left because of me,” I pointed out.

“Nah. They left because they’re assholes.” Johnny began to saw vigorously at a steak.

“Maybe. But they don’t think I can handle it. I’m not good enough.”

“No,” he protested. “They just have their heads up their asses, Dex and Troy both, thinking they could do any better than you.”

“Couldn’t they, though?”

“Dex ain’t got the balls to be anything but a tactician. And Troy’s a fucking boy scout.”

“ _ ¿Y tú? _ ”

That made him pause, his fork hovering half-way to his mouth, a dripping piece of meat speared on its end. He slowly laid the fork down, then lowered his glasses.

“Fuck. No,” he said slowly and deliberately. “We both know I don’t have the patience to be in charge, people coming to me, asking for shit. You, you’ll stare them down until they figure their shit out. That’s an effective leadership strategy. Plus, I like the idea of you taking over when Julius retires. Always a good idea to have a ballsy woman in charge.”

“Is Julius retiring?” I asked, suddenly panicked. 

“Well, no,” he admitted. “But this is a gang. Who knows how long any of us will last.”

He continued to scarf down the food on the table as I thought over the prospect of what this promotion meant. I didn’t have any designs on leadership, and would be perfectly happy to keep following Julius’ orders. But maybe I needed to take a page from Dex and think about getting a little ambitious. Sitting at the right hand of the throne meant more power than I’d ever had, and much more than I’d ever know what to do with. Johnny noticed my frown.

“You seriously worried about this?” He sighed, then let his cutlery clatter against the plate as he pushed back his chair and stood up. “You need some fun. I think I got just the thing.”

I reluctantly followed Johnny out of the restaurant and to his brand new Stilleto, and he drove us back to the Row. I didn’t ask where we were going, and he didn’t offer any more information. Eventually, he pulled into the empty parking lot of a half-constructed apartment building. It looked as if it hadn’t been worked on in some time, and trash and graffiti served as persistent decoration. I arched an eyebrow at him as he put the car in park.

“Just trust me, okay?”

I narrowed my gaze at him, but got out of the car anyway. After everything we’d been through, he was the one person I’d trust to have my back in any situation. No point in doubting him now. I followed him into the shell of the building and up a few flights of concrete stairs until we arrived on the roof. There, leaning up against a few cinder blocks, was a basket of baseballs and a few wooden bats.

“You come up here often?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Any time I need to just hit a few out. I played in high school, you know.”

“You were a teenage athlete?” I scoffed, picking up a ball and tossing it a few times to get a feel for the weight.

“Well, no one thought I’d go pro, or anything,” he admitted, handing me a bat. “But I think Ma was hoping it’d turn into a college scholarship or some shit. We all knew I wouldn’t get one for being a smart-ass.”

He picked up a ball of his own, tossed it into the air, then swung with impressive force. The wood let out an ear-splitting crack as it hit the ball, sending it flying out over the smaller buildings across the street. It went far enough that I couldn’t see if it hit anything in the dark, and with the whistling of the wind up this high, I couldn’t hear it either. When he turned back to me, I asked him, “What happened with that?”

“Eh, you know,” he shrugged, gesturing for me to try hitting my own ball. I threw it into the air, but it came down right over my head, and only Johnny’s quick reflexes saved me from a concussion. “I got into a fight with the coach’s son. He’d been pissed when I’d raised the prices on the pot I was selling him and threatened to tell his dad. So I roughed him up a bit. And then he told his dad. That was the end of my baseball career and my high school education. Went full time with the Saints when I was expelled.”

“What did your mom think?” He showed me how to toss the ball up properly, and once I demonstrated I wasn’t capable of such a thing, took a step back so he could toss them to me instead.

“I don’t know, to be honest.” My first hit sent the ball straight into the low wall that lined the roof. It bounced off and rolled back to us. “I was afraid she’d beat my ass, so I packed up my shit and left without talking to her.”

“You haven’t spoken since?” The second time, the ball went over the edge of the roof. I heard it crash into something metal below. 

“Nah.” Johnny shook his head, a frown appearing on his lips. “I tried to go home a while back. Aisha thought I should reach out, but she didn’t live there anymore. I don’t know where she went. Don’t see much point in looking now.”

He tossed me a few more balls, and each one went farther than the last. I liked the way the bat felt in my hands as I swung it, the force of hitting the ball reverberating down the wood and into my arms. It was a little more satisfying to swing through the hit, which I couldn’t do when I swung a bat at someone’s skull.

“I left home in high school, too. Well, not home, but…” I trailed off, hesitant to say more. I’d never told him about my past, and he’d never asked. It was nice to live in a space where who I was and where I came from didn’t matter, but day by day, I was losing the urge to actively hide it. Whatever I said, I didn’t think Johnny would hold it against me.

“My mom’s dead,” I finally told him.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, then tossed me another ball.

“I never knew her. It was when I was really young. Then my dad… he disappeared when I was a kid. I’m not sure what happened to him.”

Johnny didn’t say anything, just nodded and kept tossing the balls my way.

“I was supposed to be a fuck up. A fucking disappointment.” The next ball I hit with such force the bat splintered, wooden shards flying in multiple directions. Johnny whistled in admiration.

“Who’d have the balls to be disappointed in you now? I’m certainly not disappointed. Julius isn’t. And everyone else can eat a bag of dicks, if you ask me.”

I smiled at him then, relieved to find that I actually believed him. Maybe I was the monster I’d been raised to believe I was, but perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. Julius thought I was worthy for being exactly who I was. I didn’t need to change into a weaker, sadder version of myself.

The wind picked up then, the already cool breeze turning icy and whipping up the loose fabric of my dress. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.

“I’m never wearing another fucking dress again as long as I live,” I muttered.

“Never? Hell, even I wouldn’t say I’d never wear a dress.” Johnny peeled off his jacket and handed it to me. I happily slipped my hands into the arms and clutched it around myself.

“Well, I won’t.”

“That’s too bad. You look good in it.”

“Keep dreaming, Johnny Gat,” I growled, but couldn’t keep the amusement out of my face. “I’ll wear a dress again the same day I let you see me naked again.”

“I look forward to that.”

“Can I come up here again?” I asked him. 

“Sure,” he said. “You’re basically the boss now.”

I grinned at him. “You sure you’re okay with that?”

“Playa, I’d follow you into a plane crash if you asked me to. That’s what friends do, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re my best fucking friend.”

“Best fucking friend in the whole fucking world?”

“Best fucking friend in the whole fucking world.”

\------------------

“It’s hard to picture you doubting yourself,” Shaundi admitted. 

“Yeah, well, people change and grow. I mean, look at you. You think the Shaundi I first met in Stillwater could do the things you’ve done?”

“Johnny seems to have changed a lot, too. In your story, he seemed so… young.”

“He was,” I reminded her. “We all were, back then. I think that’s why Julius rounded us all up. We were too young to see through his bullshit, so he thought he could control us. And when he realized he couldn’t, well…”

“That was when he set you up?”

“And blew me the fuck up. Cost me five fucking years. I’m still pissed about it.”

“I remember Johnny from that time. That was when I met him,” she said. “In prison. He was angry. Ready to fuck up anyone, for any reason, and I think it was only Aisha that made him keep his cool. But the longer he was in there, the more he mellowed out, became smart about it all.”

“Yeah, he seemed more, I don’t know, collected? Mature? Not quite the same as he’d been. I guess I’d changed too, in those five years.”

“What was it like, meeting back up with him?” she asked. I shrugged.

“It was like, you know how it feels when you slide a clip into place? That feeling of everything being right where it’s supposed to be, and no one can stop you. Yeah, that’s what it was like. I could feel it as soon as we’d evaded the cops…”


	5. Memory Four: Saving Gat's Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss delivers damsel-in-distress Johnny Gat to his lady love and gets the low-down on the new Stillwater.

“You look different. You do somethin’ with your hair?”

“Yeah, I didn’t cut it for five years,” I said. “Side effects of being fucking unconscious.”

“I like it,” Johnny decided. 

“It’s curly,” I protested, raising an eyebrow. “It’s half-way down to my ass. I look like a forest witch come to the big city for the first time.”

“Well, last time I saw you, your hair was so short you looked like a dude.”

I had liked looking like a dude. No one hassled me, hit on me, or touched me. Unfortunately, in the five years I lay sleeping, my body had decided to fill out. I couldn’t be sure, but my breasts seemed at least a full cup size bigger, and my hips had widened. I was still pretty skinny, but now I had too many curves to ever pass for a teenage boy, even if I was trying. “I wish I still did.”

“You should lean into it,” Johnny suggested. “Ditch the baggy jeans for the shortest pair of shorts you can find. Let your ass hang out. Wear t-shirts two sizes too small, so everyone can see your nipples.”

“Everyone, or you?” I pulled the Five-O into the parking lot of a Freckle Bitches. We needed to find new wheels before we headed into the suburbs, and if we lifted one from this lot, I could get a funbag, too.

“Hey, I’ve already seen your nipples, remember?” He reminded me. “Plus, I have been 100% faithful to Aisha for the past 761 days.”

“Isn’t that how long you were locked up for trying to kill Troy?”

“For you. In your fucking memory. I think that entitles me to a little leering. Haven’t I earned it?” He crossed his arms and tried to look his noble best. His 6-foot frame and broad shoulders helped his cause, but he couldn’t keep his face from looking like he was about to punch someone.

“I just saved your ass from being deep-fried, you ungrateful asshole,” I grumbled.

“I think you mean, you interrupted what was about to be my acquittal.” It only took a second for us to dissolve into laughter. It felt good to laugh with him. It was the first time I had laughed in years, I guessed, although that was hard to believe. I didn’t feel like half a decade had passed, but I couldn’t deny the signs. 

Last time I’d seen him, Johnny was 22, with the gangliness of youth still clinging to his limbs, which he’d tried to hide with the boxy, baggy style of the times. He’d had frosted tips, which were never actually good looking, and hunched his shoulders, like he hadn’t yet mastered the art of body language. Additionally, back then he had been hot-headed, loud, aggressive, and always took up more space than was necessary by swinging his arms and hands when he talked.

Looking at him now, I could still see the kid he used to be, but with a lot of the edges chiseled off. His broad shoulders weren’t hunched; they were held square and low. He let his physical prowess take up the space for him, instead of talking with his hands. His voice had even deepened, and while he was still aggressive, he was far more decisive than hot-headed and spoke in the kind of even tone that suggested he knew the difference between volume and weight in his speech. Johnny had grown up a bit, refined his style, settled into his personality. I needed to do the same.

What felt like yesterday, I was 18 years old. Now, I was 22 years old, with the body, voice, and mind of an adult woman. Many of the inhibitions I had worked to shed from my life before the Saints had disappeared entirely. For example, I had already said more to Johnny today than I ever had back before the explosion, and I hadn’t even thought about it. I was surprised he hadn’t said anything about it, but then again, he hadn’t said much about my sudden revival either, and that was probably more of a shock. I didn’t feel any of the hesitation I used to have for taking action, either. I saw a problem, I acted, and it was dealt with. No urge to ask for directions or advice. No second-guessing.

As for my body, I was already showing an unusual amount of skin. The Sloppy Seconds where I had shed my prison uniform hadn’t had a huge variety, so I had only grabbed a pair of black, cropped yoga pants, a sports bra, and a baseball jersey, and paired them with a pair of flip flops I didn’t actually purchase. As of that moment, those were the only clothes I owned, and I was okay with them. I no longer had a reason to hide my body like I had when I was young and afraid of men or my adoptive mother. If I wanted to show off my stomach or cleavage or ass, I could. And if anyone said shit, I’d beat them to death with the nearest heavy object.

Johnny was right, I should lean into it. Just like I leaned into the Keystone parked next to the dumpster. And by lean in, I mean I broke the driver’s side window. It was a sloppy way to steal a car, but I didn’t have any of my tools, and we needed wheels.

Once we filled up on Freckle Bitches, we hit the streets again, and Johnny caught me up on what I had missed. I didn’t pay attention to most of it. Everything he said about cell phones being smart made me feel dumb. Everything he said about Ultor made me feel angry. And everything he said about Troy, Dex, and Julius left me with a bad taste in my mouth. The world had completely re-formed itself in the blink of an eye. It was bullshit.

“Why can’t shit just go back to how it was?” I snapped.

“What, you want to reform the Saints?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Stillwater can't just up and fucking change overnight and expect me to not do something about it. It’s fucking insulting.”

Johnny laughed again, leaning his arm against the open window and looking at me with an almost grin on his face.

“You know, I thought I missed you. I thought, man, life would suck less if I had my best friend back. But now that you’re back, it’s like, I don’t know, fucking reality makes sense again.”

“So you wanna fuck shit up and take over Stillwater with me?” I asked.

“Hell yeah,” he shouted. “I have been waiting to get back in the swing of things. Kill assholes. Steal cars. Run drugs. Blow shit up. Everything. I’ve still got an arsenal in Aisha’s garage. Don’t tell her.”

“What are friends for?”

The uneasiness in my stomach settled a bit. Johnny had my back, and as long as he was with me, no one would last long against me.

“Speaking of shit you keep in Aisha’s garage, any chance my baby is among them?” I asked.

“Your baby?”

“My little Halberd? The one I had custom painted? The one I used for racing because she corners the way I want and can fit into small spaces. Plus, I never have to worry about finding a parking spot.”  
“You seriously want that piece of shit car back?” Johnny’s voice was incredulous, and he looked at me over his glasses, as if he couldn’t be sure of what he was seeing.

“She’s not a piece of shit. Hallie Berdie got me through a lot back then, and I sunk a lot of money into keeping her looking pretty and running smooth.”

“You busted that car up more than you busted up Rollerz. If it was a pet, I would have called animal control on you. Nah, that car is better off in a junkyard than your garage.”

“So, you didn’t hold on to her for me?”

“No, I didn’t fucking hold on to your wheels. I don’t know if you noticed, but I was in jail for over two years,” Johnny huffed. 

“You could have put her in storage or something,” I muttered. I loved that car. She was just like me: small, surprisingly fast and agile, armed to the grills, and a vibrant shade of royal purple. But everything else I had known was gone. It made sense for her to be gone, too.

“We’ll get you a new car, I promise,” Johnny assured me. “But first, I gotta get back to ‘Eesh.”

“If you say, ‘the pussy calls,’ to me, I will drive this Keystone off the freeway and into the water,” I warned him. He chuckled

“Nah, I just want to be able to see her,” he said. “Being officially dead and all, she wasn’t exactly able to come visit me in prison. Couldn’t call, neither. Wrote me a few letters, though. Signed them Mrs. Gat. I liked that.”

“Are you two getting married?” I asked, making a face. He shrugged

“We got a lot of catching up to do before we get to that point, if you know what I mean. But I don’t know. I’m not exactly the settling down kind, and I’d never give up fucking shit up with you, but if she can accept that, why not?”

I tried to think of Johnny as a husband, coming home after a long day to Aisha and little mini Aishas and Johnnys. I shivered, repulsed by the domesticity. “How about we just focus on building our reputation back up first.”

“Yeah, we got a lot of work to do to push out the gangs that have sprung up in your absence,” he agreed.

We pulled into Aisha’s driveway, still the same house she had lived in five years before. “Any chance I can stop in and say hi?”

“Uh…” Johnny hesitated as he exited the vehicle. “I know she’d be happy to see you, but I’ve waited 761 days, and I can’t guarantee you won’t see some shit you don’t want to see if you’re there when I see her again.”

“I’ll stop by sometime later,” I cringed.

“Hey, Boss?” he asked, closing the door but leaning back in through the window.

“Boss?”

“Isn’t this you promoting yourself to leader of the Saints?”

“It feels like you’re promoting me.”

“Whatever. Can I just say what I want to say?” he asked, waving his hand at me and sighing in exasperation. I stayed silent and nodded. “Thanks for saving my ass. No one ever understood me like you do. I think, probably no one ever will.”

“Don’t fucking cry on me now, Gat,” I complained, but I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. 

“I will cry manly emotional tears if I want to,” he argued. “It’s not every day a Saint comes back to life. #Blessed.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a twitter thing.”

“What’s a twitter?”

Johnny sighed. “How about you just do what you do best, kill people, and I’ll do what I do best, also kill people, and we’ll find someone to canonize that can teach you about the 21st century.” 

“As long as we get to kill people.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

\------------------

Shaundi smiled, nestling her head against the crook of her arm. “Did you ever think, back then when you first started out, that the Saints would become as big as they did?”

“Nah.” I shook my head. “Neither of us were big picture people. I just knew I wanted back the power I’d lost.”

“We were such a motley crew back then. You and Johnny were such psychopaths, but you both seemed more legend than real. I was a college pot dealer. And Pierce was, well, Pierce. But with way less style. And then there was Carlos...”

She trailed off and glanced at me with worry. I kept my face impassive. It barely even hurt to hear his name.

“It only lasted like, half a second, but we were a happy little family right there at the beginning,” I said. “We had nothing but a run-down hole-in-the-ground and reckless ambition. I knew it wouldn’t last, but…” 

“It was nice while it did,” she finished. I nodded. If only I had appreciated it at the time...


	6. Memory Five: The Potential of Purgatory Purged and Purified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss and Johnny give Aisha a tour of the new hideout and introduce her to Pierce, Shaundi, and Carlos. For a moment, everything is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look how great this chapter title is. I'm very proud of it.

Johnny was the one who found Purgatory, or what would become Purgatory, hidden under the old mission. Clearing out its previous inhabitants was a highlight. It was really the first time Johnny and I had worked together on something since I’d woken up, and it reminded me what a good pair we were. But killing gangsters and bums is one thing. Cleaning and decorating was another, and that shit hole had a lot of work that needed to be done. I did not want to be the one to do it. Johnny didn’t either. So I called up Carlos, and Johnny hooked me up with Pierce and Shaundi, then hit the streets to find a few grunts to do the dirty work. Before I knew it, we had a crew. The Saints were back in the game. Our lives were full of violent potential.

“What is that smell?” Aisha asked, her face blanched, her hand covering her mouth as if she might hurl at any moment. I sniffed the air, then shrugged.

“Burning bodies. You get used to it.”

“You’re _burning bodies_?” she shrieked, and I grinned to myself as her next instinct was to smack Johnny’s arm. “How could you bring me here while there are still corpses around?”

“Ow, shit, ‘Eesh, stop,” he cried, glaring at me. “There ain’t any goddamn bodies left.”

“Then what’s the smell, Johnny?”

“It just lingers, that’s all.” He put his hands up in supplication, shrinking back from her. I laughed. He was lucky the three of us were still in the stairwell. There were probably half-a-dozen Saints through the next door, and if any of them saw the way he shrank under the wrath of Aisha, he’d have to kill a couple of them before he could get his dignity back. Everyone thought he was the biggest badass in the whole world. A bigger badass than me, even, but I knew the truth. When it came to the woman he loved, Johnny Gat was a pushover. 

My heart constricted looking at the two of them. There was a comfort in the familiarity of their loving bickering that made me feel grounded, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t also a little envy at the surety of intimacy that passed between them with every look. I’d never been that close to someone else. I doubted I would ever get the chance.

I pushed back the clear plastic that hung in the crumbling doorway and led them into Purgatory proper. Our new home.

“We’re going to put an elevator in there,” I said, pointing at the dead-end on my right. “Knock out the wall, put in some cables. It’s dumb to have to go up and down four flights of stairs.”

“Oh, good,” Aisha sighed. “It’ll probably save time, too.”

“This room, I’m going to remodel into a master bedroom for myself,” I said, pointing at the room across from us. 

“Hey, I never agreed to that,” Johnny complained. “We said we’d talk about it.”

“I figured you wouldn’t need a place to crash,” I replied, shooting a meaningful look at Aisha. “Since, you know, you got a home already.”

Johnny frowned but didn’t push the issue any farther. We’d discussed the matter of living arrangements a dozen times, and he’d made it clear that he and Aisha had enough space for me to move in, but it hadn’t felt right. For starters, they didn’t need the heat of an extra fugitive under their roof. Plus, I didn’t want to get in the way of them playing house. Johnny needed a space he could be with Aisha away from all the gang shit. I didn’t.

Aisha hooked her arm with mine and prompted me to continue the tour. 

“This area is going to be the main office. I’m going to put in floor-to-ceiling glass windows to look out over the main space. Most of what we’re doing is going into making this area look real nice and sleek. I figure we can turn that bar into a legitimate operation once we get going, for Saints only. The rest of the underground we’ll just leave for now, but we can continue construction as we need to. Extra bedrooms, work-out spaces, an armory, whatever we want.”

Aisha unlinked our arms and moved to the top of the stairs, her careful eyes surveying the space. Johnny and I held our breath, waiting for her reaction. The place was still filthy, covered in the grime and dirt of a half-century underground. Everything I could see was damaged in some way, and the only repairs that had been done so far had been attaching ply-wood to anything that was in imminent danger of collapsing. 

It had potential. I was sure it did. And this wasn’t like the old church that Julius had kept in a state of disrepair because he couldn’t be bothered to fix it up. That had been a way-point, proof of the transient nature of his attachment to the Saints. But Purgatory was going to be my home, and if I could help it, the home of anyone who wanted to join me. I wanted it to feel like a sanctuary, permanent and well-cared for.

“It has potential,” she finally said, nodding her approval. Johnny let out an audible sigh of relief. “I’d be happy to take a look at your plans for decorating it, if you’d like an expert eye.”

“I was hoping you’d offer,” I grinned. “Want to meet the crew?”

The place wasn’t exactly flooded with people yet, but there were enough that it was never really empty. I decided that introducing Aisha to my lieutenants was top priority. 

Pierce was closest, sprawled on a new plaid couch that had fallen off the back of a truck, one of the first things that had been replaced. His laptop was perched on his knees as he worked on some sort of spreadsheet. When he saw the three of us descending the stairs, he scrambled upright, his eyes fixating in awe on Aisha, and met her at the bottom with an outstretched hand.

“Wow, I can’t tell you what an honor this is,” he said, pumping her hand a little too vigorously, overcome by his enthusiasm. “I have been a fan of your music since you released your first single. Let me just say, I am so glad to hear that you’re not dead.”

Pierce continued to shower her with compliments, Aisha smiling at him good-naturedly until Johnny decided he’d had enough and stepped up beside her. Pierce dropped her hand quickly and took a step back.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Washington,” she cooed, her voice thick like honey. I rolled my eyes, secretly impressed by how easy it was for her to make everyone she met melt. No wonder people still loved her five years after her “death.”

Shaundi was up next. We found her in a room next to the bar, a series of bunsen burners and beakers set up like a proper chemistry lab. The acidic smell that came from whatever she was cooking up was hardly any better than the lingering smell of burnt flesh, but all Aisha did was wrinkle her nose.

“So, you must be the magnetic Aisha I’ve heard all about,” Shaundi said, pushing a pair of safety goggles to the top of her head. 

“Johnny’s been talking about me?” Aisha asked, her voice pleased.

“Not just Johnny. Boss talks about you all the time, too.”

Aisha beamed at me, and my cheeks flushed hot. I scowled at Shaundi and crossed my arms, but the damage had been done. 

“You got any updates, Shaundi?” I snapped.

“Don’t be like that,” Aisha chided, laying a hand on my arm. Over her shoulder, Shaundi just grinned at me. I could tell I’d have to do a lot to keep that one in line. “It’s nice to hear I’m highly spoken of.”

The two women began chatting, and Johnny and I wandered away towards the bar.

“Well, so far, so good,” he remarked. “I was afraid she’d get mad when she saw how shitty this place is.”

“Nah.” I shook my head. “Aisha sees things as they can be, not as they are. That’s why she was willing to stay with your dumb ass.”

“Hey!” Johnny scowled, then tossed back the shot of tequila I poured him. He raised an eyebrow at me and asked, “I need to worry about you stealing my girl?”

I choked on my own shot, the tequila spilling all over my front. “ _¿Qué?_ ”

“According to Shaundi, you talk about ‘Eesh almost as much as I do,” he said. I peered at him, unsure if he was serious. His voice held a dangerous edge, but the corner of his mouth was quirked up just a little. Just enough.

“You know what, yeah,” I answered. “I am gonna steal your girl.”

I laughed then, and Johnny laughed with me. We both knew that the only way I’d have a shot with Aisha was if he was dead.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her when you die,” I assured him.

“You better,” he warned. “Or I’ll come back and haunt your ass.”

“What are you two laughing about?” Aisha asked, rejoining us after her conversation with Shaundi. “Isn’t there one more person?”

“Yeah, Carlos,” I answered, recapping the tequila bottle and stowing it on the shelf before seeking out the final member of my inner circle.

We found him in another room just off the main atrium, the pleasant scent of wood shavings coming from a set of saw horses that had been set up. He was focused on the job in front of him, a router in his hands as he cut into a long strip of pine paneling. The exposed muscles of his arms were taut and glistening under a faint sheen of sweat. I watched him for a moment, reluctant to interrupt his work. When he finished, he noticed us and turned off the router, a lopsided grin on his lips.

“You must be Aisha,” he called, waving at her.

“And you must be Carlos! Are you doing the renovation work yourself?” She asked.

“Some of it,” he conceded with a shrug. “I had all this stuff I collected while I was a loan shark, stuff I’d repossessed, and I thought, why let it go to waste?”

“You’re a carpenter?”

“Ha, no,” he laughed. “But I’m a quick learner. So far I’m just doing door frames and baseboards. If I fuck that up, it’s cheap to replace.”

“So what’s the plan with this piece?” She asked, and he launched into an explanation of his intentions. I couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. He was the kind of guy who jumped into things with both feet, and I got the feeling it was an attitude that would rub off on me. I didn’t mind that possibility.

Next to me, Johnny nudged my shoulder. “Think she likes them?”

“I’m going to tell everyone you’re pussy whipped,” I whispered back.

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“I’d tell Aisha on you,” he warned, and the smile dropped off my face.

“Yeah, I think she does,” I answered honestly. “ _¿Y tú?_ ”

Johnny shrugged, then thought for a moment before answering. “They’ve got potential,” he finally said. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. I looked again at Carlos. He was rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face as Aisha complimented his work. There was a lot of potential there, and with Shaundi and Pierce. 

A warm feeling settled in my gut, but I couldn’t quite name it. It was unfamiliar, but pleasant at the same time. Standing next to Johnny, watching Aisha and Carlos chat and laugh, the feeling seemed to grow. It was like the opposite of drowning, or like being high without the blurred vision or out-of-body experience. I liked it. And I liked them. And I really liked Purgatory, crumbling walls and all.

\------------------

Shaundi smiled, and I couldn’t help smiling back at her.

“Those were simpler times, when all we had to worry about was how to make Loa Dust and which mechanics were in Maero’s pocket,” she said. I nodded. “If you had known back then everything that was going to happen, all the shit that went down with Aisha, Carlos, Johnny… Would you have done anything differently?”

“None of that shit was my fault,” I said, my nose wrinkling in annoyance. “If I was going to do things differently, I would have gone back in time even further and knocked the shit out of Julius Little long before that _pendejo_ had the dumb idea to blow me up.”

“How did you even find out it was him, anyway?”

“Guess.”

“Johnny?” She asked, as I’d expected.

“No, actually, it was Stillwater’s Chief of Police…”


	7. Memory Six: Julius Little Deserves to Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss and Johnny meet up with an old acquaintance and learn the truth about the boat explosion. Boss doesn't take it well, but Johnny reminds her exactly who she is.

“I don’t want to fucking see him,” I growled again. It was the third time I’d said it, but Johnny had yet to acknowledge me. He just kept driving, his eyes resolutely on the road ahead of him. “And why’s he calling you anyway? Didn’t you try to kill him?”

“Troy and I have settled our differences,” he said.

“So what, you’re besties now?” I kicked the dash of Johnny’s car, the heel of my combat boot leaving behind a black mark. I wanted to get a rise out of him, but all he did was purse his lips. “Best fucking friends, Johnny and Troy. Troy and Johnny. Fugitive felon and Chief of Police.  _ Un partido en el cielo _ .”

“Hey, I’m not a fugitive anymore. The mayor agreed to sign those pardons in exchange for me not taking a baseball bat to her skull.”

“What if I take a baseball bat to your skull?” I taunted. 

“You’re acting like a fucking child.”

“I am a fucking child,” I snapped back. “I’m the fucking child who doesn’t want to see Troy.”

“Well that’s too fucking bad, because we’re here.”

Johnny pulled into a brightly lit but empty parking lot, an idling aged Justice the only other car. He pulled up next to it so that my window was even with the driver. I scowled at him as he pressed the button to lower the window.

“What’s up, Playa,” Troy greeted me, his cheerful tone forced and hollow. I turned my scowl on him and noted with distaste that he still had his stupid fucking mustache. It made him look ten years older than he was, although I had to figure he was probably at least a few years older than he’d pretended back when we first met.

“Cut the shit, Troy. What do you want?”

“I want peace,” he said and turned his eyes on me. Then he frowned. “Where the fuck is your shirt?”

“What’s the matter, Troy?” I pouted. “Don’t you like what you see?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. I laughed at the reaction, then leaned partly out the window until my ample cleavage strained what little there was of the fabric of my barely-there bikini top. I hadn’t worn it for him. I’d worn it because I hadn’t done laundry in two months and it was one of the last few pieces of clothing I owned that was still clean. I’d planned to go shopping for new clothes that afternoon, but Johnny had gotten in my way with this fucking reunion. The fact that it bothered Troy was just a surprise bonus.

“If you got such a problem with my tits, why the fuck did you have Johnny drag me out here like a suburban custody exchange, huh?”

“Look, I don’t have a problem with your tits,” he protested. “I just live in a world where people have a sense of decency. I forgot that you don’t.”

“Where the fuck has decency ever gotten anyone?” I snapped. “People who claim to be decent still do fucked up things, they just do it behind closed doors, where it’s harder to see. At least I’m upfront about my crimes.”

“I didn’t come here for a philosophical debate,” he said.

“Then why?”

Troy sighed heavily, then popped a piece of gum in his mouth before answering. He must have been trying to quit smoking. Good for him.

“You took out the last of your rivals, which means a lot fewer innocent bystanders are getting caught in the crossfire of turf wars,” he began. “Now, I know shit’s going down with Ultor, but I ain’t got any control over that. I do have control over my people, though, and I can have them avoid any entanglements with you and yours.”

“What’s the catch?” I asked warily. He met my eyes, then. He didn’t look tired or angry or apathetic or anything I would have expected from him. He looked concerned.

“The catch is, you don’t do anything that would specifically draw my attention,” he answered. “And you listen to these.”

He handed over a flash drive.

“What’s this?”

“The end of the 3rd Street Saints.” I scowled at him, but he hurried on before I could say anything. “The first time, I mean. It’s got some answers I think you’re looking for, but if it’s not enough, it’s also got Dex’s phone number.”

“Dex? The fuck does he want?” I hadn’t thought about Dex since I’d first woken up. I vaguely recalled Johnny saying he worked for Ultor now, but I hadn’t run into him.

“I think he’s trying to cover his ass,” Troy said. “You were always a bit of a psychopath, but now you’ve got ambition, and I think he wants to make sure he doesn’t get on your bad side. Or at least that’s what it seemed to me when he reached out.”

“Don’t you want to make sure you don’t get on my bad side?” I asked.

“I’m not stupid,” Troy answered, one eyebrow cocking in amusement. “I know better than to think you got a side that ain’t bad. All I’m asking for is a truce. Don’t kill mine, and we won’t come after you.”

“So that’s it?” I asked the chief, handing the USB to Johnny. “We both walk away and live happily ever after?”

“Fuck no,” Troy laughed. “Only way to live happily ever after is to get the fuck out of Stillwater, and we’re both too stubborn for that. I’m not saying we won’t ever be at war, either. But I remember when we were friends, and as fucked up as you are sometimes, I can’t deny that the city is a little quieter when you’re on top. More of my guys go home for dinner, instead of in a body bag.”

“For an undercover cop planning to betray us the whole time, you were a decent friend,” I admitted. “It’s good I didn’t find out who you really were back then. I probably would have killed you. Still might. But for now,  _ somos buenos _ .”

We watched Troy leave the parking lot before Johnny put the car in gear and left in the opposite direction. He let out a long breath as we crossed the bridge back to Mission Beach. 

“You think he was serious about the truce?” I asked.

“Yeah. I think he’s sick of fighting battles he can’t win, and he knows he can’t win against us.” 

I smirked at Johnny’s confidence. An hour later, sitting in my office at Purgatory, I wasn’t smirking anymore.

I sat in silence staring at the computer screen, the playback widget indicating that there was nothing left of the audio files to play. Julius Little had tried to kill me. The man who had plucked me off the streets, had me trained, gave me a purpose and power, took me under his wing, trusted me as his right-hand man had also planted a bomb on a boat he knew I’d be on. To get rid of me. Just like that, all I’d ever done for him, and I was tossed away like a used tissue.

The sound of shattering glass broke me out of my stupor. I looked up to see that Johnny had hurled his chair through the window and into the lobby below. The Saints below looked up at him with startled faces, then ran for it when he bellowed at them to get the fuck out.

By the time he’d turned back to me, my breathing was ragged. The reality of Julius’ confession on the wiretap had flooded me like molten lead, and I was being crushed under the weight of it. 

Johnny brought down a baseball bat on the computer on my desk. I jumped back from the impact as fragments of electronics went flying. Another swing, and the computer was rendered unrecognizable. Then Johnny took the whole thing and chucked it out the hole he’d created in the window. He turned back to me again and offered me the bat.

“Well, I feel better. Now it’s your turn.”

I didn’t take the bat. I felt frozen, helpless, stuck. Johnny took one of my hands and wrapped it around the wooden neck, but when he let go, it only dangled uselessly from my grip. I felt like I was seconds away from shattering into a million tiny pieces, and if I simply held very still, maybe I wouldn’t come completely undone.

“C’mon now, Boss,” he coaxed, his voice gentle as he used his thumb to wipe away a tear from my cheek I hadn’t realized I’d shed. “You already knew Julius wasn’t worth shit. The correct response here is anger.”

“I was inconvenient,” I whispered, the words hot and dry in my mouth. “I was nothing but a loose end. Disposable.”

“No,” he growled, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me slightly. “It ain’t Julius who put the Saints on the map the first time around. It ain’t him that dragged us back from the dead, neither. That was us. That was you.”

I shook my head, incapable of understanding his words at the moment. “Everything I am is what he made me.”

“Fuck that. You made you. He just got lucky in finding you at the right time in the right place.”

“Johnny,  _ no era  _ nada _ antes de ser santa _ ,” I said, finally meeting his gaze, his eyes intense and furious behind the shaded lenses. “I thought he believed in me. I thought he saw something in me that even I couldn’t see. But I was nothing to him, just like I was nothing to everyone else. Everyone who’s ever met me has either abandoned or betrayed me. I should have died on that boat.”

Johnny pressed me against him, his hands coming to cup my face as he rested his forehead against mine. If he hadn’t been holding me up, I would have sunk to the floor, maybe slid through it, melting into the earth and ceasing to exist altogether.

“Yeah, you should have died on that boat,” he agreed, his voice both soft and fierce, his breath hot against my skin. “But you didn’t. People keep trying to fuck you up, trying to destroy you, but you don’t stay down. Hell, they keep trying to kill me, too, but you won’t let that happen either. How many times you save my life?”

I shrugged, but that wasn’t good enough for him.

“No, you gotta say it.”

“Once with Tonya,” I started counting. “Once or twice during pushbacks.”

“Yeah, and then?”

“Does saving you from death row count?”

“You bet your ass it does.”

“And when you got stabbed.”

“And at the shootout at the cemetery,” he added. “You see a pattern here? People keep coming to fuck with us, and you keep putting them down.”

I took a deep breath, and Johnny loosened his grip on me, giving me space to stand on my own two feet again. He wiped my cheeks free of tears, then tucked my curls behind my ears.

“Everyone who’s tried to fuck us over, what’s happened to them?” he asked. “What happened to Maero, Akuji, the General?”

“I killed them,” I said.

“And Julius fucked us over.”

“So I kill him too.” I knew it was the right course of action as soon as I said it. Hearing those words out loud filled me with a calmness that overpowered the devastating grief that had almost crippled me. Johnny was right; I never let anyone get away with fucking me over, and I wouldn’t start now. Julius had lived for too long with his betrayal, and I wouldn’t let it stand for a moment longer than was necessary. I was a beast, untamable, unkillable, and unavoidable, and I’d make sure everyone knew exactly what happened to those who crossed me. Julius would regret the day he decided I was disposable.

“I’m gonna call Dex,” I said, and Johnny handed over his phone, ten digits already punched in.

I dialed the number. Dex didn’t answer, but his voicemail was clearly intended for me. “How you doing, Playa? If you’ve gone through Troy’s files, you know that Julius set you up. Meet me at the old church, and I’ll tell you where to find Julius.”

“So, you gonna go to the church?” Johnny asked.

“Wouldn’t you?” 

He shrugged. “You could hunt down Julius on your own. You don’t need Dex, and he fucking left us. Are you sure you can trust him?”

“Trust that  _ hijo de puta _ ? Fuck no,” I answered. “But I need to find Julius now. Before he learns that I know what he’s done. And if Dex can deliver that to me, maybe I won’t hold on to my grudge against him so tightly. Dex is smart. He’ll see that it’s in his best interest to be my ally.”

“Let me come with,” Johnny asked.

“I don’t need your protection,” I reminded him.

“Fuck, I know that.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But Julius fucked me over, too. Dex abandoned me just like he did you. I have a stake in this, too. Sure, he didn’t blow me up or nothing, but he betrayed me just the same.”

I considered it for a moment, but ended up shaking my head no. “When I get Julius’ location, I’ll call you and we can go together. But if we both show up at the church, Dex is gonna get scared and disappear. It’s better if it’s just me. He still thinks he’s smarter than me. Stronger. He’s wrong, but that’s his problem.”

“Fine. But you promise you’ll call?”

“I promise.”

\------------------

“Of course, Dex had set us up, and it was Julius that I found at the church. Not that it mattered, in the end.”

“Johnny never got to take his revenge,” Shaundi commented.

“I did call him, while we were fleeing the church. Couldn’t talk, didn’t want Julius to realize it, so I just left the phone on speaker in my pocket, but Johnny got the hint. He got to the amphitheater after I’d shot Julius, but before he was actually dead. That was satisfying, Julius seeing us together as he bled out.”

“That was enough for him?”

“Yeah. I think he was more mad for my sake than for himself. We got Freckle Bitches after that.” 

“Did it change anything? Killing Julius? My memories from that time are kinda hazy. One second we were ganglords, then the next, we were corporate overlords. I don’t remember quite how it happened, but I remember Julius died, and then suddenly Ultor was ours. Was it related?”

I frowned at her and tried to remember. “I think so. After Julius died, I think I began to realize how important being in power was. I didn’t want to end up like him, collared and domesticated, and that meant taking advantage of the opportunities that presented themselves.”

“Like taking over Ultor?”

“Exactly like taking over Ultor…”


	8. Memory Seven: Funeral of a Father Figure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss prepares for her future and lays her past to rest. Through it all, it is Johnny's support that matters most.

I saw the door open behind me, the reflection of Johnny’s suited body filling the doorway in my vanity mirror. He was wearing his pinstriped suit, the same one he wore for every suit-worthy event he felt compelled to attend. He looked fucking ridiculous in it. Like a 1920’s Korean gangster. Or a penguin dressed up as one.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asked.

I looked down at myself. I was wearing what I thought was appropriate funeral attire: a black and purple suit jacket over a black button-up with a purple tie and a pair of pleated black dress pants. It was more appropriate than what I had worn to Aisha’s funeral. “What’s wrong with it?”

“No cleavage,” he scolded, pulling the jacket open before turning me around and flipping up the tails. “And I can’t see either of your ass cheeks!”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snapped and pulled away from him.

“Are you even wearing makeup?”

“Yes, I’ve got foundation on.”

“What the fuck is foundation? Your eyes look fucking weird not coated in black and purple. Who are you?”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my vanity. Grabbing a hairband, I wrangled my thick black curls into something that resembled a bun. Maybe I should straighten my hair. It would look more professional. And it would be easier to deal with. “I’m not wearing lipstick either. You got something to say about that?”

“You want me to admit I stare at your lips all the time?” he asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, without lipstick, how am I gonna know if you’ve sucked dick today?”

I didn’t even completely register what he had said before I had pivoted and punched him between the legs. He groaned, closed his eyes, and bent over slightly, but didn’t completely collapse to the ground.

“You deserved that,  _ puta madre _ .”

“No one deserves that,” he whimpered, trying not to let on how much pain he was in. Now it was my turn to smirk.

“For your information, I haven’t sucked dick in months. I’m on an all pussy diet. How about you?”

“It’s been a bit,” he admitted. “I’ve been busy. Killing shit, and...shit.”

He sat down on my bed and rested his chin in his hand. He looked… not sad, exactly, but thoughtful. Pensive. It wasn’t a good look on him.

“If you don’t want to go to Julius’s funeral, you don’t have to,” I told him. “I’m only going so I can pour one out over his grave and remind everyone else what happens when you try to fuck me over.”

“And the conservative barbie look?”

“Barbie is white and blonde, not a Filipina Latina. And she doesn’t have a tiny pistol tucked into her left boot.”

“You don’t know that. Barbie could be packing.”

“Barbie doesn’t even have nipples, I don’t think she’s armed.”

“Okay, as much as I want to talk about Barbie’s tits, I’m not going to let you change the subject,” he said. “Why are you dressed like that?”

I sighed. There was no point in hiding it from him. He’d find out one way or another, and maybe he wouldn’t be so annoyed if it came from me. “At the funeral, I’m meeting that Ultor guy, Gryphon or whatever.”

“Please tell me we’re not doing another job for him,” Johnny groaned. “I don’t like the idea of us being corporate goons.”

“What about the idea of us  _ having _ corporate goons?” I asked, sitting on the bed beside him. “You know, like, expanding the Saint’s universe.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“I’m talking about taking over a business, like we did with Rim Jobs, Brown Baggers, Friendly Fire, and all those other shops. But like, on a way bigger scale.”

“Boss, I am not liking the sound of this.”

“Yeah, well, I’m bored,” I admitted. “This city is ours. Dex ain't ever gonna show his face here again, I put Julius in the ground, Ultor Corp is terrified of us. What am I supposed to spend my time doing? Everyone is in our pocket. I need forward movement. I can’t stagnate.”

“You put Julius down less than a week ago,” Johnny reminded me. “You only finished the shit with Dex on Wednesday. We finished our city takeover like… I don’t know, time is stupid, but it wasn’t that long ago. You are not stagnating. Just give shit time to stabilize. I’m sure something will come up that you can fuck with.”

“Are you seriously telling me to take a fucking vacation?”

“No, that’s not what I said,” he snapped back. “There’s still shit to do as we are. People are scared of us, and that means they’re going to do stupid shit that we’ll have to deal with.”

“People are not that scared of us,” I pointed out. “You know I got this jacket at Impressions? I can’t even say that I bought it or stole it, because the store pays protection money to us, and when I went in to get it, the salesdude basically fawned over me. He asked if he could take a picture of me wearing it. For cred, or whatever. How fucked up is that?”

“That’s...okay, that’s fucked up,” he agreed. “But Impressions, that’s downtown, right? So that’s just the upper-middle-class assholes that have too much money to think bad shit can happen to them.”

“Okay, how about this,” I countered. “I was doing that weekly bike race in Elysian Fields last night, right? That shitty one I’ve been complaining about since my first ride, the one with that sharp curve I can’t master?”

“You can’t master it because you’re a shit driver. There’s nothing wrong with the race route.” I punched him in the shoulder, and he shut up.

“So, I line up for the race, and instead of a couple people pulling out, ya know, ‘cuz they fear me, no one pulls out. And this one guy says some shit about how being beat by me in a race will get him laid? And then, AND THEN, these  _ puta madres _ LET me win. Like, I usually take that curve really recklessly, because at that point I’m in last place, I’ve got nothing to lose, and no one’s around to watch me fall off the fucking bike. But this time, they’re more concerned about like, hanging out with me during the race? No one takes the lead, because, I don’t know, they’re too excited to see me, I guess?”

“So, you won? That’s good, isn’t it?” Johnny asked, confused.

“No, it’s not fucking good,” I snapped. Why wasn’t he getting this? “The thrill of the race comes from beating these fuckers. Taking a win from them by any means possible. Depriving them of their goal. But I didn’t beat them. They wanted me to win. Completely different.”

“Okay, okay, I see what you’re saying.” Johnny adjusted his glasses and put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m saying, this will die down. A month from now, they’ll get their kicks from trying to beat you, instead of being beat  _ by _ you. Some upstart will think he can take you, and you’ll get to put him in his place.”

“A month!” I exclaimed. “In a month, I’ll be a rusty old piece of shit who’s forgotten how to hold a gun!”

“That’s a little overdramatic, don’t you think?”

“No,” I protested. The idea of sitting idle for a month made my throat constrict, panic brewing under my skin.

“A month isn’t so long,” he reminded me. “You spent five years doing nothing, and still came out on top.”

“That’s different. I was unconscious for those five years.” Five years I could have spent learning to be a better driver, or figuring out how to use the internet.

“Still, you woke up and tore the prison apart in a matter of hours.”

“I had Carlos to help me, and I was fighting fat, lazy prison guards, not someone trained on the streets by poverty and violence. A child could beat up those prison guards.”

“You’re missing the point, Boss.” Johnny was starting to sound irritated, but I was irritated too.

“You’re missing the point,” I spat back, standing up to face him. “I am not waiting for the next asshole to come at me. I am going to build my power now, take over everything in this goddamn country if I have to, and I am not going to waste another minute, let alone month, letting myself get content and lazy. The last time I did that, I got fucking exploded.”

My voice had risen to a shout. With those last words, spit sprayed from my lips and landed on Johnny’s shades. Silently, he took them off and cleaned them with the pocket square he pulled from his breast pocket. He didn’t look at me. I sucked in a breath and willed my heart rate to lower. I shouldn’t have been yelling at him. It wasn’t his fault Julius had betrayed me, and Johnny had never been anything but loyal. He would always have my back, as long as I had his.

“Maybe I am being dramatic.  _ Un poquito _ ,” I conceded. He put his shades back on.

“No one is going to blow you up this time. You’re the boss, now. Julius can’t hurt you anymore. Maero can’t hurt you. No one is secretly gunning for you. Even the public loves you.”

“I promised, after Carlos, I would never let myself be vulnerable again.”

“I get it, Boss.”

“I’m not selling out,” I assured him. “I’m not going to be Ultor’s bitch anymore than I’m going to be anyone else’s bitch.”

“But you’re still going to be a bitch, right?” he asked, his grin starting to return.

“Biggest bitch in Stillwater,” I promised. “But a bitch with a brand. Think of it more as a corporate take-over. Plus, think of all the money.”

“It’s not about the money.” He shook his head and sighed, then patted the bed next to him, asking me to sit down next to him again. I obliged. “It’s never been about the money, at least not for me. It’s about reputation, power, and most importantly, fun. If we ain’t having fun, what the fuck is the point?”

“Money can buy all that,” I argued. “Plus, it buys security. So when that upstart does come along to challenge me, I’m not blindsided, and I’m not rusty. I’ll be prepared.”

“You sure you’re ready for the responsibility? I mean, I’m not one to run things, even at the gang level. But you, you’re good at making decisions, but only when you want to. Are you prepared to be making corporate-style decisions? Is that what you want?”

I shrugged. “I’m a big picture kind of person. I think that works for the deal I’m looking at with Ultor. Plus, I’m probably gonna have Pierce figure out all the boring shit. It’s what he’s good at. Maybe put Shaundi in charge of a few things, see how she handles it. I’m good at delegating. That’s what bosses do, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He sighed. “If this is what you want, if it’s what’s gonna make you feel better about everything, then I guess I’m on board.”

“Thanks, Johnny,” I said. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d refused. I wasn’t sure I would want to do anything without him at my side. I could be president of the country, and it wouldn’t matter for shit if he weren’t there to back me up.

“Just, make sure we don’t lose sight of who we are along the way, okay?”

“You got it,” I assured him. “We’ll always be the 3rd Street Saints, no matter what. Gangsters and gangbangers to the core. We’re not going legit, really. We’re just making crime a little more mainstream.”

“I guess this means I should stop assaulting Ultor guards when I’m bored,” he said.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I replied. “If they can’t handle Johnny Gat, then they can’t work for me. Think of it like surprise canonization.”

“Oh, I like that,” Johnny laughed. “I still remember your canonization. I thought for sure you didn’t have what it takes to be a Saint. Didn’t know what Julius saw in you.”

“Yeah, well, Julius saw whatever the fuck he wanted to see.”

“You feel good about how it ended?” Johnny asked. I shrugged, and leaned my head on his shoulder.

“I was such fucking child when I met him, thinking he’d be like, I don’t know, a father to me, or some shit,” I answered. “But I supposed that fits, doesn’t it? I never had a father figure that didn’t let me down in some way. It’s kind of like, killing him, it felt like… like closure, for all of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m a grown-ass woman. I don’t need a father. Maybe I never did. And killing Julius, that was me accepting that. Family ain’t shit. No one’s gonna take care of you except you, and just because someone is a little nice to you, opens a few doors once in a while, that doesn’t earn them loyalty. Loyalty is for the fuckers who show up, who treat you with respect, who, who…”

“Who love you as you are, and don’t ask you to be what you’re not?” Johnny offered.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Julius wanted me to be a beast only when it suited him, and then he wanted me to turn into something else. My step-dad wanted me to be quiet and obedient. My real dad wanted me to be… I don’t even know, that was so long ago. When I killed Julius, I killed the idea that it matters what other people... what  _ men _ want me to be.”

“You know what I want you to be?” Johnny asked.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” I told him. 

“Yeah, but I’m going to tell you anyway,” he said. “I want you to be the baddest bitch you can be, because that’s who you want to be. I want you to be exactly who you want to be.”

I smiled. “That’s why I love you Johnny. You’d never try to change me.”

“You don’t love me for my dashing good looks and 8-inch cock?”

“You could be as ugly as Dane Voegel with a micro-penis, and as long as you got my back and don’t tell me what to fucking do, you’re still my best friend.”

“Your best fucking friend in the whole fucking world,” he clarified.

“My best fucking friend in the whole fucking world,” I agreed.

“I love you, too, you know.” He kissed the top of my head, then took my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. “I’d follow you to hell, if you asked.”

“I would ask, you know. No point in going to hell if I’m not going with you.”

“We’d fuck the devil up real good.”

“Probably take it over.”

“I like the sound of that. Johnny Gat, king of hell.”

“Let’s start by giving Julius a good send-off.” 

\------------------

“I remember that,” Shaundi said, her voice full of surprise. “When you made the announcement we were going corporate, I remember looking at Johnny to see how he’d take it and being shocked at his non-reaction. I thought he’d be furious.”

“You really thought that was the first time he’d heard about it?” I raised an eyebrow at her. She looked sheepish.

“I guess I didn’t realize how close you two were. You were always distant from me and Pierce and everyone else, I just assumed it was the same for him.”

“Johnny Gat knew everything there was to know about me. He knew more than even Kinzie knows.”

“He knew your real name?” she asked.

“Worse,” I answered. “He met my adoptive family.”

“Your… what?”


	9. Memory Eight: The Creation of Planet Saints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny watches as Boss cements her power and makes herself untouchable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of past abuse of all kinds. Violence typical for the franchise. If you are just looking for BossGat content and want to avoid the darker aspects of this game world, maybe skip this chapter. If you like revenge fantasies, however, this is for you!

I opened the manila folder that had been left on my desk. Inside was one shiny and fresh driver’s license, one aged-looking birth certificate, and one blue American passport. All three of them bore the same name: Geneveva Abucajo Boss .

I chuckled to myself. I hadn’t expected my contact to be quite so literal when I said I wanted my name to let everyone know I was the boss, but I wasn’t complaining. The first name had been my mother’s. It was one of the few things I remembered of her, as she’d died when I was young. The middle name had been part of my father’s name. Him I remembered somewhat, gentle hands and a warm smile, but then he’d vanished when I was 10.

After seven years in Stillwater, I finally had legal identification. Or at least, forgeries so good no one could tell the difference. And no one would know my real name. 

Ever.

Johnny waltzed into my office like he was planning on holding it up, barging in with a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He looked around the room and whistled.

“Shit, this is bigger than the office at Purgatory. You like it any better?”

I shrugged. “It’s got a nice view.”

We both approached the north-facing wall, nothing but glass panels, and gazed out over the Row. From the 53rd floor of the Phillips building, we could see clear to the Marina District and beyond, distant shadows of other islands disrupting the otherwise unbroken horizon line across the water. Just standing there looking out over my city made me feel invincible.

“What’s that?” Johnny asked, nodding at the documents in my hand. I passed them over so he could admire the work.

“Ultor says I need to pay taxes now, the IRS being the one gang I can’t destroy. But to do that, I need an identity, a legal name, a social security number. Some sort of paperwork trail that works with the system. Can’t just storm into a tax accountant’s office with an assault rifle and ask them to look the other way.” 

“So, I get to call you this now?” he asked, looking up from the passport with a grin. “Geneveva? We could call you Veva for short.”

“No,” I said, snatching back the documents. “The name is just something to put on all the Planet Saints contracts. It’s not who I am.” 

“Wait a second, if you have a driver’s licence now, that means you can have your license revoked.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I think I may need to talk to Troy again. Finally have a way for him to make the streets of Stillwater a safer place.”

“You think you’re so fucking funny,” I groaned, and shoved the documents into one of the drawers of the massively oversized desk. I didn’t plan on actually using them for anything practical. It’s not like I’d have to go through customs at the airport, and Brown Baggers had never once carded me for buying booze. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“The photoshoot,” he said, a wrinkle appearing on his forehead. “Did you forget? Or did I get the day wrong? I cleaned my favorite shotgun for the special occasion.”

I briefly closed my eyes in embarrassment as the memory returned to me. Our clothing store was about to be launched, and part of the ad campaign was centered on it being the daily wear of the 3rd Street Saints. We were scheduled for a photoshoot in just a few hours, all four of us to look menacing in clothes we wouldn’t actually be caught dead wearing. I’d forgotten. Probably because I didn’t actually want to do it.

“Wanna play hooky?” I asked Johnny. 

“Normally, I’d say yes,” he assured me. “But I kinda have this fantasy of walking into a Planet Saints in a couple months, standing right next to a cardboard cut-out of myself, and robbing the store blind.”

I snorted in amusement, then took a seat behind my desk. “Well, have fun with that. Give everyone my apologies. Wait, actually don’t. I’m not sorry.”

“Yeah, and you’re not skipping,” he argued. I narrowed my eyes. Johnny opened his mouth to convince me but was interrupted by the intercom beeping.

“Um, Ms. Boss?” a nervous, feminine voice called.

“It’s just Boss,” I corrected, pressing the response button.

“Yes, Boss. There’s, um, someone here to see you.”

“I didn’t schedule any meetings,” I complained. “Tell whatever exec it is to go fuck themselves. I’ve got a photoshoot to get to.”

The only thing I wanted to do less than go to a photoshoot was have another mind-numbingly dull meeting with another mind-numbingly dull Ultor crony. Johnny chuckled.

“It’s not a scheduled meeting,” the voice called again. What was the name of my secretary? Joyce? Joy? “And it’s not one of the executives. They say they’re your parents.”

“They’re probably reporters lying to get access,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Right, that’s what I thought at first. But they, uh, there’s this picture. It looks like you, anyway. And you look really young. It looks like you’re in a church, maybe? You’re wearing white, and they’re on either side of you, smiling.”

I could feel the blood drain from my face as everything went cold. I could picture the photo she was describing, taken when I was 16 years old. I could practically feel the weight of their hands on my shoulders, the hot, stifling air of the small church, the scratchy fabric of the polyester dress.

“Boss?” she called. “Should I send them up?” 

Johnny made the decision for me, his finger pressing down on the button over top of mine. “Yeah, send them on up.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Gat?” I asked, rising to my feet to stare him down.

“Ain’t it time to put your past to bed?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

By the time the door to my office opened again, I had barely calmed down. Johnny had settled himself on one of the sleek white couches, a tumbler of brandy in one hand, the other resting his shotgun across his knees. I froze in the middle of my pacing, hands still fidgeting with the rings I wore. A man and woman, both in their sixties, entered the room.

Paula and Gerry Daniels looked like the kind of church-going folk that you could count on to bring a hearty casserole to the neighborhood potluck. And they would too. Paula would wear a knee-length sundress with a belted white cardigan, and Gerry would wear a matching polo tucked into khaki slacks. They’d smile and joke, call toddlers precious, ask after the health of family members, and always tell you they’d pray for you. And then they’d go home, lock their doors, pull their curtains, and commit the kind of sins that could turn even the gentlest of children into complete fucking psychopaths. 

“Oh, Mary,” Paula breathed, one hand on her heart, tears in her eyes. “We’ve been looking for you for so long.”

They looked much like I’d remembered them, but a little more stooped, their faces a little more wrinkled. Their expressions were carefully constructed masks of concern, but I could still see the malice in their cold blue eyes. 

“We’ve had just a terrible time of it, thinking you were dead or worse,” Gerry claimed, one hand squeezing Paula’s shoulder as he stepped closer to me. “And all this time you were living it up in the big city. You’ve gotten into a lot of trouble, young lady.”

“Oh, yes, it’s just awful what they’re saying you’ve done,” Paula chimed. “When we first saw your face on the news, we couldn’t believe it.”

“But we’ve prayed on it, and we’re prepared to forgive you and welcome you back into our home,” Gerry said.

“Forgive me?” I repeated. “For what?”

“Oh, Mary, you know it’s wicked to play games,” Paula scolded. “But I suppose it’s a minor sin compared to all the other wicked things you’ve done since you were lost.”

“I wasn’t lost,” I said. “I fucking ran away.”

I hadn’t realized how close Gerry had come to me until I felt the sting of his backhand. For a man half-way through his sixties, he still had some force behind his swing. It surprised me more than hurt, though. All the illegal fighting rings I’d participated in had made me almost immune to open-handed hits. I barely even reacted. 

“Now look what you made him do,” Paula tutted. “You know that sort of foul language is unacceptable. I’m half a mind to wash your mouth out with soap right here, right now.”

I realized then what they were trying to do. The loving reunion to get my guard down, the backhanded slap to make me feel inferior. Calling me wicked to make me feel shame. Next, they’d probably tell me I was a whore, then tell me how worried they’d been, trying to guilt me into blindly accepting whatever their endgame was. But seven years was a long time, and I wasn’t the same person they’d bullied and abused before.

I glanced over at Johnny. He hadn’t risen from the couch, but he’d put his glass down and leaned forward, one finger resting on the trigger of his gun. They hadn’t even seen him yet, but I wasn’t ready for backup. I shook my head a little and turned back to my adoptive parents.

“I’m surprised you’re here, that’s all,” I said, careful to keep my voice quiet and demure, the rising fury I felt carefully hidden away. “I’d have thought you’d want nothing to do with me.”

“When we took you into our home, we made a promise to God that we would always love you,” Paula said. “It’s not always easy, loving a wayward girl like you, but we can’t give up on you now, not when you’re being tempted by the devil’s own company. Not when we can help you turn from your dark path.”

The money, then. They wanted a cut of Ultor’s cash and thought they could manipulate me enough to get it.

“I thought I was the temptation,” I mused, a small smile playing across my lips. “Isn’t that what you always told your friends, Gerry? They couldn’t help themselves. I was sent by the devil to lead them astray.”

Gerry scowled, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “You can still turn from this life of sin, Mary.”

“Can’t change the way I look, though,” I taunted. “You said it was sinful, being so pretty. That I had sinful lips, a sinful body.”

“You’ve changed it enough, with all that hair dye and those piercings and tattoos. Defiling God’s handiwork with fiendish symbols.” Paula’s hand on his forearm reminded him of his purpose, and he changed tone. “But I’m sure we can still find a good man to marry you, teach you discipline-”

“Rape me every night, keep me barefoot and pregnant?” I cut in.

“Such an awful thing to say,” Paula gasped. 

I smiled broadly at them then, and sauntered toward Johnny. I didn’t get to see their faces when they realized they weren’t alone with me, but I heard the small choking sound Paula made. I perched on the arm of the couch closest to Johnny, picking up his glass of brandy to sip while I surveyed them. A new look had entered their eyes. One of uncertainty, maybe even fear, but it wasn’t enough.

“This is Johnny Gat,” I introduced. “The most dangerous psychopath in the world, and my best fucking friend. Johnny, these are the sadistic fucks who abused me for most of my teenage years.”

“You lie with Satan’s tongue,” Paula cried. “We gave you everything, and what did we get for it? Nothing but an ungrateful whore.”

“Yes, yes,” I dismissed. “I’m very ungrateful. But I’ve actually never sold my body for sex. That was you. You sold me. And then beat me when I complained.” 

“After everything we’ve done for you,” growled Gerry.

“What’s that? What did you do for me, exactly?” 

“We saved you,” Paula cried. “You were supposed to go back to that cesspit country your father was from, but we petitioned the judge to keep you with us.”

I perked up at that. They’d never mentioned my father before. He’d disappeared when I was ten, and a social worker had dropped me off with the Daniels shortly after. I’d never found out what had happened to him, and I’d been punished severely for asking.

“He was deported?” I pressed. 

“Of course he was,” Gerry spat. “You think they’d let a low-life like him stay in our country. No, they shipped him back to Mexico or Cuba or wherever he was from. He kept sending letters asking about you, but we knew better than to let him have any contact with you.”

“My father wanted me?” I asked. “He didn’t abandon me, he was forced to leave?”

“You think you had it bad living with us, imagine how awful it would have been if we’d let him take you back,” Paula said, as if I would see the reason in her argument. 

“Yes, how awful to be raised by a man who is gentle and kind and doesn’t let grown fucking men stick their hands down my shirt,” I snapped, trading the glass of brandy for Johnny’s shotgun. I checked to make sure it was loaded, then pointed it at them. Gerry pushed Paula in front of him, and they both paled in fear.

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

“Johnny, how many people have I killed in the last year alone?” 

“Too many to fucking count,” he said.

“Try.” 

“I don’t know. At least a dozen, not counting all the people you run over ‘cuz you’re a shit driver. Never actually checked to see if you killed any of them.” He thought for a moment as I smirked at the terrified couple in front of me. “I’d say, intentional kills, probably 15. Not as high as my count, but still pretty fucking impressive.”

“Do you think I should make it 17?” Paula started to cry fat, silent tears then.

“C’mon, Boss. It’s a new office. You gotta break it in some time. These carpets aren’t going to bloody themselves.”

“We’ll go,” Paula croaked out. “You’ll never have to hear from us again.”

I nodded in agreement. “That’s the plan. The dead don’t often speak.”

“We’ll pay you,” she offered meekly.

“Look around,  _ puta _ ,” I said, gesturing to the spacious office as I rose to my feet and advanced on them. “I’ve got more money than you’d make in ten lifetimes. I’ve got an army of lawyers and P.R. people to keep me out of jail and in the public’s good graces, and even if I didn’t, I’ve killed people for far less than what you’ve done to me.”

Up close, Paula’s eyes were as full of hatred as they were of fear. It filled me with excitement to see her cowering before me just as I’d cowered before her so many times in my youth. I leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “If you were just a shitty parent doing your best, I’d let you go, maybe even pay you off. But you stole me. You tortured me. And you tried to make me believe it was all my fault. You should have never come here. I probably would have forgotten to make you pay for your crimes, but it’s too late for that.”

“No, Mary, please,” she whimpered, but instead of answering, I pulled the trigger. Gerry cried with horror as his wife dropped to the floor, her entire torso blasted apart. I wiped some of the blood spatter off my face, then leveled the gun at him.

“You got any last words,  _ puta madre _ ?” 

“You’ll burn in hell for this,” he said.

“Then I guess we’ll meet again.” The blast hit him in the face, blowing apart most of his skull. I carefully placed the shotgun on my desk, then pressed the intercom call button.

“Yes, Boss?”

“I need a clean-up crew in my office, a change of clothes, and a car to drive me to the photoshoot.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Johnny walked over and toed the two corpses, then looked at me, his expression unreadable.

“You got something to say?” I snapped.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed. “You don’t want to go to the photoshoot, we don’t have to go to the photoshoot.”

I handed his shotgun back and shrugged. “Eh, it probably won’t be so bad. Plus, we have so few photos of the four of us.”

Johnny nodded, then cocked his head to the side. “So… your name is Mary?”

“Fuck no,” I spat. “They just called me that because they thought my real name sounded too foreign.”

“Like your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna do something about that? Track him down or something?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Or maybe he’ll see my face on a Planet Saints ad and come looking for me. Or maybe we should just leave my past where it belongs and focus on our future.”

“Whatever you say, Boss. I got your back either way.”

“I know, Johnny,” I assured him. “And you know that if you tell anyone about what you learned here today, I’ll toss you out of these windows.”

“Yo, I know how to keep a fucking secret,” he protested, taking on an air of offense. I smiled and relaxed. One more loose end tied up. One more step closer to being completely untouchable. 

\------------------

Shaundi stared at me, her mouth open in shock.

“You gave me such shit for being late that day,” she complained. 

“Yeah, exactly,” I answered. “I committed double homicide, and still got there on time.”

“I hate you,” she huffed, then rolled away from me.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” I murmured, snuggling up to her backside. “You’re the one who asked for these stories.”

“I asked for stories about you and Johnny,” she protested. “He was barely in that one.”

“Fine, you want a story about Johnny? How about the one where I found out what a terrible dancer he is?”

Shaundi tentatively rolled towards me again. “How on earth did you get him to dance?”

“Well, we were pretty drunk at the time…”


	10. Memory Nine: The People's Worst Choice Awards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drunk night of celebration leads to a startling revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've already read this chapter, check out the artwork I added towards the end.

“And the award for Favorite Social Media Celebrity goes to…” I held my breath. I don't know why. I didn't even really want the award. I definitely hadn't wanted to come to LA to accept it at this media circus of an awards show. If I was the People's Choice, then the people were fucking idiots. But now that the presenter was about to speak, I felt the sudden urge to stab the person sitting next to me if I didn't win. 

“Boss!” the presenter cheered into the microphone. The entire theater erupted with cheers and applause, and I found myself standing, pumping my fist in the air, and hollering my acceptance. Beside me, Johnny clapped and smiled, unaware of how close he came to being attacked. 

I made my way up to the stage, the bright lights of the TV cameras turning my sparkling jumper into a shimmering cascade of purple and black glitter. The wide, flowy pant legs danced around me as I strode confidently to the center of the stage. I have no idea what I said. I think some of it was in Spanish. I looked out over the sea of nameless faces and saw only my friends, my eyes meeting Johnny’s as he stood and cheered for me, the smirk on his face as wide a smile as he could make.

By the time I made it back to my seat, award and swag bag in tow, I was feeling drunk on the excitement of the crowd. Johnny handed me a flask of tequila and I tossed it back. He reached out and squeezed my hand once, whispering congratulations in my ear, his warm breath tickling the hair on my skin.

At the afterparty, I did a line of cocaine and continued to drink heavily. Everything was all bright colors, loud noises, and happy laughter. Shaundi, the year's winner for best reality TV star, and I carried our awards around like cudgels, intimidating pop stars, actors, and YouTube personalities alike. The press wasn’t allowed at this party, and every celebrity had unhinged their sense of propriety and decorum, exposing the unrestrained hedonism that lay underneath, unfettered by possible damage to their carefully crafted reputations. That’s where I had a leg up on them all. Hedonism was my reputation.

At one point, I found myself lounging on a plush ottoman, flute of tequila in my hand, watching Shaundi dance amidst a throng of people. A woman dropped into the couch beside me, her soft pink babydoll dress and high ponytail trying to give her the look of innocence, even as her pouty lips and sky-high stilettos suggested a much more carnal appetite. I vaguely recognized her as one of those child actors who was trying to rebrand herself as the fully sexual adult she’d actually been for the past five years.

“Your friend over there sure does have the dark and broody market cornered,” she said. My eyes followed the nod of her head to find Johnny leaning against a wall in a corner, no drink in his hand, arms folded across his chest. “I bet a man like him could just crush me.”

“He generally doesn’t attack unless provoked,” I mumbled back. I couldn’t tell where he was looking, his eyes covered in shades despite the dim of the room. I got the gut feeling it was in my direction.

“That’s too bad,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to find someone to provoke him.”

At her drunken giggle, I turned back to the woman, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. “Really? There are tons of attractive men here, many who would worship the ground you walk on, and you wanna bang the one with the biggest rap sheet? The one who isn’t even socializing like a fucking psychopath?”

She shrugged. “My therapist says I always go after men who don’t want me because I’m afraid of feeling true happiness.”

“I mean, you could also just like, go ask him to fuck,” I suggested.

“Oh, I did. He didn’t even look at me.” She rested her chin against her hand and sighed as if refusing to even acknowledge her existence was the epitome of romantic gestures.

I glanced back at Gat, who hadn’t even so much as shifted his weight. An idea formed in my head, and I pushed myself up and staggered around drunks and dancers alike to make my way over to him. If he saw me coming, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“When was the last time you got laid?” I asked, poking his chest with my forefinger. “Or had fun, for that matter?”

“When was the last time you minded your own fucking business?” he asked back, a chuckle in his voice as he gently wrapped a hand around my finger and lowered it to my side. “And who says I’m not having tons of fun keeping an eye on you and Shaundi?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious of the way he deflected my questions. I opened my mouth to press him further but was distracted by a pale arm being slung around my shoulders.

“C’mon, you two,” Shaundi said. “What’s a party if we don’t dance our asses off?”

“Yeah, Boss, go dance your ass off,” he encouraged, pressing lightly against my elbow as if to shoo me away.

“Johnny, you don’t want to dance?” Shaundi complained.

“I get a much better view of you two from back here,” he said. “You know I like to watch.”

I wrinkled my nose at that. “Since when, _el embustero_?”

But Shaundi was already dragging me away, and Johnny only smirked in response.

We did a lot of dancing, I think. I remember Shaundi dancing anyway. And then I remember my feet hurting, unaccustomed to wearing heels. I think that sometime after that, I climbed up on a table and chucked the shoes as far away from me as I could, and then jumped onto Johnny's back and made him carry me around, piggy-back style. At that point, it was only a matter of time before he decided I needed to be put to bed. 

By the time he’d wrangled me into the elevator of our hotel after a blurry limo ride from the party, I was starting to collect myself. He swiped us into the suite and held the door open for me to stumble through. I tossed my award on the couch and staggered to the room phone.

“Who the fuck you calling this late at night? Everyone’s either passed out or too wasted to answer,” Johnny said.

I didn’t answer him, but waited for the line to connect on the other end. “I need a large mushroom and cheese pizza delivered to the Presidential Suite immediately,” I said, my words slurred together only slightly. The voice on the other end said something that amounted to confirmation, and I replaced the receiver.

“You’re gonna pass out before it gets up here,” Johnny said as I turned back to him, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Then I guess you’ll have to come up with some way to keep me awake.” I smiled broadly at him and wandered over to the speakers, pulling out my phone to bring up a playlist.

“I want to sleep,” he complained. “Keep yourself awake.”

I hit the play button, then collapsed on the couch as music began to play. I patted the couch next to me, but Johnny shook his head and walked to the sink instead.

“Did you even enjoy yourself tonight?” I asked him as he poured a glass of water from the tap. “Or did you just play unnecessary bodyguard the whole time.”

“Well, I didn’t get to shoot anyone, so how much fun exactly could I have?” He brought the glass to me and held it out expectantly.

“I feel like you never have fun anymore,” I complained.

“Drink the damn water,” he said. I scowled at him but took the glass anyway. He stared at me until I started to drink. 

“You bored?” I asked when I had emptied it.

He shrugged. “Brushing shoulders with pop stars and actors ain’t really my thing. I’m only here because you are.”

“You don’t fuck, you don’t dance, you barely even drink anymore. You getting ready to leave me, Gat?”

“I shudder to think what kind of dumbass thing you’d do if I wasn’t here,” he joked. “But I am going to leave you for tonight.”

He turned to go, but I was on my feet before he was halfway to the door, reluctant to be alone. Then I heard the familiar chords of my favorite song, my nerves tingling as I started to sway to the rhythm. “Wait. Dance with me Johnny.”

“Fuck no.” His rejection was soft, but he stopped and turned back to me. He stayed stock still as I swung my hips into the sensual steps of the rumba, approaching him to the slow, steady beat of the song.

“ _Una flor dura un verano_ ,” I sang, my alto voice mixing harmonically with the tenor vocalist that wafted through the speakers. “ _Un verano son tres meses_.”

“Boss,” he warned, his eyes slipping from my face to my undulating hips as I both sang and danced my way to him. “I don’t dance.”

I let my hand drag across his broad chest as I made my way behind him, driven more vigorously by his resistance. I leaned up to whisper the next lyrics in his ear. “ _Como yo te amo_.”

Johnny spun to face me, his hands capturing my wrists and holding me at a distance. I laughed at his reaction. Enough alcohol was still in my veins that his heavy breathing and rigid posture seemed to be nothing more than annoyance. I leaned forward, forcing him to catch my weight as I devolved into a fit of giggles. He gently let me slide to the floor.

Once my laughter had subsided, I let myself fall back against the floor, then winced in pain.

“You okay, Boss?”

“Stupid hairpins, always stabbing me,” I muttered, but didn’t move. The floor felt so comfortable.

“C’mon, sit up. I’ll help you take them out.” I groaned in response, but exerted the effort to rise when he slipped his hand under my shoulders. Johnny’s fingers probed the mass of hair at the nape of my neck, gently pulling free the pins as he found them. I relaxed as the tightness of the braids that had tamed my long mass of curls loosened and came free. I quietly sang along to the rest of the song as he worked. When he’d finished, he took a moment to massage my scalp before helping me back to my feet.

“Okay, but you really do have to dance with me for this next one,” I said as the tune changed.

“I can’t dance,” he protested. “I’m not trying to be stubborn. I have no rhythm, and I never know what to do with my fucking hands.”

“That’s fine,” I assured him, threading my arms behind his neck. “Just put your hands on my waist and I’ll lead.”

I tried to guide him through a few basic steps, but within just the first verse, he stepped on my toes three times and bumped foreheads with me twice. He hadn’t been joking. He was a terrible dancer. We finally settled to simply swaying back and forth like a couple of 7th graders at their first school dance, until finally, I rested my head against his chest, too tired to keep my eyes open anymore.

“Hey now, I’m supposed to keep you awake,” he reminded, his warm breath tickling the hair on my temples. “There’s pizza coming.”

“ _No tengo hambre_ ,” I muttered, the words heavy in my mouth. My hands slipped down his shoulders, my arms too heavy to keep upright. Johnny’s steady heartbeat lulled me towards sleep, the music in the background fading to a distant salve. 

He nudged me a few times before realizing I was no longer coherent. The next thing I knew, my feet were swept off the ground as Johnny gathered me into his arms like a child. I had a moment to marvel at how strong he still was. He had carried me like this once before, and I was sure I was heavier now. Then he laid me on something soft, and soon I was enveloped in the warmth of blankets. I exhaled a breath, ready for true sleep to take hold of me and drag me under, comforted by the soothing touch of Johnny stroking my hair.

An errant thought crossed my mind as it teetered on the precipice of unconsciousness. Johnny wasn’t particularly inclined toward physical affection, yet here he was, running his fingers through my curls, still close. And he’d touched me so much tonight. Or maybe I’d touched him, but he’d still let me. It was curious, and something I’d have to remember when I woke up, if I could. It meant something, I was sure of it, even if I couldn’t quite grasp exactly what in my current state.

“I love you,” he whispered into my hair. It took all my self-control to keep my breathing even and slow, to not spring awake and grab him by the collar of his shirt. He pressed his lips against my hairline, then against my temple, then against the bone of my cheek. “I know you loved Carlos, and I’m not him, and you’re not Aisha. But I think… maybe we’re meant to be something. Maybe we can be, I don’t fucking know, lovers, or some shit. Maybe one day I’ll try to say this shit to you when you’re conscious and sober.”

He stroked my hair again, then laid one last kiss against my jaw. I held perfectly still, maintaining the illusion of sleep until long after he’d left, closing the door gently after him. 

\------------------

Shaundi stared at the ceiling, silent. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, and that worried me. Maybe I should have kept that one last secret to myself. Johnny’s confession had rocked me to my core that night, and I’d spent a lot of time after his death pretending I hadn’t heard it. 

“I shouldn’t be jealous, but…” Shaundi let out a heavy breath.

“But you were in love with him,” I finished.

“Yes.”

“I figured. You took his death pretty hard.” 

“All this time, he was in love with you,” she whispered.

“I don’t know that for sure,” I countered. “He was drunk. I was drunk. It wasn’t long after that night that all the shit went down with Loren and the bank. Who knows what would have happened between us if he’d… if he hadn’t…”

I bit my tongue. I knew. I knew exactly what would have happened, because it did happen. But that was one memory I’d never share with Shaundi. Some things are better left as secrets.


	11. Memory Ten: Don't You (Forget About Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the days before the bank heist, Boss starts something she can't finish.

“What. The fuck. Are you wearing?” If Johnny had been a cartoon, his jaw would have dropped to the floor like a lead weight the moment he’d laid eyes on me. As it was, I had to settle for the dumb look that had emerged on his face and the way he’d frozen with his hand still on the doorknob.

“It’s a dress, Johnny,” I said. It was. Technically. Not one I’d be caught dead wearing in public, but a dress nonetheless. 

“It’s uh, yeah that’s-” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a dress.”

The dark tint of his glasses deprived me of seeing exactly where his eyes had landed. There were so many places revealed for him to look at, but I was sure he was staring. I let a smirk curl on my purple-stained lips. The extra pain I’d put into crafting my appearance was worth it to watch him unwind before me.

“Did you… did you need me for something?” he managed to ask after a prolonged silence. I uncrossed my legs in a motion I’d practiced several times over, slow enough to draw his eyes to the darkness that peaked from under the hem of the hip-high slit, but quick enough to prevent him from seeing exactly what I was or was not wearing underneath, and slid off the edge of the desk. In slow strides, I walked around it, careful to let my hips drop with each step.

“I wanted you to approve the new recruits prior to canonization,” I said, leaning over the desk slightly, careful not to let gravity pull my breasts free from the neckline of the dress. A neckline that dipped clear down to my navel. The salesgirl who’d sold it to me had recommended double-sided tape to hold it in place, but I didn’t want to have to explain why there was tape on my tits if the dress were to be removed. And I wanted the dress to be removed.

“You had to wear that dress for this?” Johnny asked, taking slow steps closer to the desk. “You got all dressed up for me?”

“What makes you think I’m dressed like this for you?”

“You don’t wear dresses,” he pointed out.

“Are you telling me what I can and can’t do, Johnny Gat?”

“You think I forgot,” he said, then laughed, his confidence and bravado returning. “I didn’t.”

“You didn’t what?”

“I didn’t forget what you said.”

“Johnny, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a fucking liar.” He leaned across the desk, his hands resting on either side of the stack of files in the center, his face only inches away. I could feel the soft puff of his breath on my skin and suppressed a shiver.

Years ago, I’d worn a dress to a fancy dinner and regretted it. I’d vowed I’d never wear a dress again, just like I’d never let Johnny see me naked again. I was about to break both promises now.

But I wanted to torture him a bit first.

“I’ve got a date after this,” I explained. “I don’t have time to go home and change. The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you and your 8-inch cock.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes at me, then leaned back. “Okay, fine. Show me the files.”

I flipped open the file on top of the stack and frowned. It was empty.

“Hmm, that’s odd. I must have misplaced them.” Johnny snorted, but I didn’t look at him. I opened the file beneath it and frowned again. Empty. One by one, I opened each file to reveal missing contents, but I did so slowly, playing up my confusion with dramatic gusto. Johnny crossed his arms and allowed me my charade, but he knew it was just for show. And he knew that I knew that he knew.

“I’m sorry, I guess I called you up here for nothing,” I apologized after I’d opened and discarded the final empty file. “Such a waste of your time. However will I make it up to you?”

I looked up to meet Johnny’s eyes, biting my lower lip in what I hoped was an enticing and seductive expression. He shook his head and sighed.

“You can make it up to me by being honest for once in your fucking life,” he said softly. I took a step back, uncomfortable with the tone in his voice. It wasn’t lustful. It wasn’t aggressive. There was a vulnerable quality to it I’d seldom heard before, but that wasn’t part of the game. He turned and walked away from me, heading first to the bar, then to the couch.

“Honesty isn’t part of my brand,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him before following.

“Yeah, I fucking noticed,” he said. He emptied the tumbler he’d poured for himself and set it on the side table, then patted the spot next to him. I reluctantly sat. “Why are you trying to seduce me?”

“C’mon, Johnny, don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need to seduce anyone. Have you seen me?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’ve seen you so deliriously happy you danced on a bar top. I’ve seen you break down sobbing so hard you couldn’t even walk. I’ve seen you angry, both the hot kind, where you destroy everything in your path with an impressive violence, and the cold kind, where you stop to figure out how to make it hurt the most. I’ve seen you at your best and at your worst and every stage in between.”

A sick feeling settled into my stomach. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to subtly tug on the neckline, regretting how revealing it was.

“And you’ve seen me in the same way.” His voice was gentle and soft in a way that made me uncomfortable. “So I’ll ask you again, and this time don’t fucking lie to me. Why are you trying to seduce me?”

I swallowed with difficulty, fighting the rising wave of panic. “I thought it’d be good if we fucked.”

“You having trouble getting laid?” he asked, a snort of disbelief following it.

“ _ Y tú _ ?” I snapped back. “Have you fucked anyone at all since Aisha died?”

“No.”

I was startled by how quickly and honestly he’d answered. We hadn’t really talked much about Aisha in a long time, and while I’d known he still carried her memory with him wherever he went, I hadn’t realized the pain of her loss was still that heavy.

“You worry me, Gat,” I said, finally looking at him. “I know Aisha was your  _ alma gemela _ , but you can’t just stop living ‘cuz she’s gone. You don’t wanna fuck me, that’s fine, but-”

A harsh bark of laughter cut me off.

“Everything’s gotta be about what feels good in the moment for you, doesn’t it?” he asked, angrily rising and going back to the bar, this time drinking straight from the bottle. 

“You have to move on, Johnny,” I emphasized, trying not to take his words personally.

“I’ve fucking moved on,” he said, slamming the bottle down. “This ain’t about Aisha. This is about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he confirmed rounding on me with an accusatory finger. “I fucking know you, Boss. All the shit we’ve been through, why do you think I’m still fucking here?”

“Where else would you be?” My voice had risen, and now we were shouting at each other. I wasn’t sure when I’d stood up, only that I couldn’t handle looking up at him.

“Anywhere! I could’a left at any time. I probably should have. This ain’t fun for me, and I’m outta my depth with this corporate celebrity shit, but I stay. I hate what the Saints have become, but I stay.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t,” I growled back, stalking behind my desk to put some space between us. “If it’s so awful, if you hate it here so much, just go. No one’s stopping you.”

“That’d be easy for you wouldn’t it?” he asked with disgust.

“How would that be easy for me? How would it be easy for me to watch my best fucking friend in the whole fucking world fucking leave me?”

“Because then you wouldn’t have to deal with what’s going on here.”

“And what’s that?”

He didn’t answer right away. He locked eyes with me as if he could peer into my soul. I felt horribly exposed, terrified of what he would say next, but I couldn’t back down. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t show him how weak I was at that moment, or how much I’d break if he said the wrong thing.

“I love you. I’m in love with you. And you love me too, don’t you?”

And that was it. The wrong thing. The honest thing. But truth was a thing I kept buried where it couldn’t hurt me, a secret left whispered in the empty darkness, and anchor keeping me steady. And here Johnny was, asking me to take a crowbar to the glass castle I’d worked so hard to build, threatening to smash it himself if I didn’t.

“I don’t fuck anyone because I can’t imagine fucking anyone but you. I stay, even though I hate what we’ve become, because I can’t imagine a world without being by your side. Fuck, Boss. I’d follow you to hell, and happily.”

He waited for me to say something, but I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He wasn’t supposed to tell me he loved me, to ask if I loved him back. I’d wanted to fuck him, have fun with him, make him feel good, but this was more than I’d bargained for. He wasn’t supposed to care this much, this deeply. When I’d heard him say I love you before, I’d thought it’d meant something different. Something lighter and more playful. Something that wouldn’t wrap around my throat and squeeze until I wanted to pass out from the pressure.

Johnny sighed, scrubbing his hands with his face.

“I know you, Boss,” he said. “I know how you think. I know you won’t give me what I want right now, and you know what? That’s okay. I love you for who you are, even the sharp edges that cut me so damn much.”

He walked to the side table, picked up the empty tumbler he’d used earlier, and returned it to the bar.

“I’m not Aisha,” I said, grasping for the only response I could think of.

“I never wanted you to be,” he answered. “I loved her. I still love her. That ain’t got nothing to do with how I love you.”

“I can’t-” He put up a hand to cut me off.

“We’ve got other things to focus on, Boss. We have a bank to rob, don’t we?” He offered me a tired smile, and I tried my best to smile in return. “And some fucking celebrity to take with us? What the fuck is that about?”

I shrugged. “It was Pierce’s idea.”

“Stupid fucking idea.” He shook his head and headed for the door. “I hope I get to shoot him.”

“Gat...” I called out hesitantly, for a moment truly afraid that this would be it, that this time he’d give up on me, leave me, and I’d have to figure out who I was without him.

“No, it’s fine, Boss,” he assured me, lingering in the doorway and reading my thoughts. “Forget about me going anywhere. And when you finally figure it out and want to take this seriously, you can wear that fucking dress again.”

“What if I never do?”

Johnny shrugged. “I’ll still be here. You and me, we’re like cockroaches. The whole world could die, but we’d still be kicking it. You’re my best fucking friend.”

“Best fucking friend in the whole fucking world?”

“Best fucking friend in the whole fucking world.”

\------------------

Shaundi had long since fallen asleep, but the soft snores that resonated from her meant I couldn’t sleep next to her. I carefully extracted myself from the blankets, dressed, and left the cargo bay. 

The ship was quiet. It wasn’t empty, but for all the people that were tucked into its nooks and crannies, it felt empty. I couldn’t even hear the distant punches of Asha working out her aggression on the punching bag or the bickering of Kenzie and Matt. Everyone must have been sleeping, for once, or maybe they were exploring fake Steelport. That was fine. I didn’t really feel like talking to anyone else tonight.

I made my way to the storage closet that served as my own private quarters and laid down, my mind fixed on memories of Gat. I replayed the events of that day at the bank again, looking for a way I could have changed the outcome of it. When that endeavor proved fruitless, I shifted to doing the same for the fateful plane ride.

The world had gone tits up after Johnny had died. Becoming celebrities had been surreal enough, but from the moment I’d crash-landed in Steelport without him, it was like a deranged child had written in the most absurd chapters in the saga of my life. Nothing that had happened had felt real. Even now, I was living a life that seemed as fake as the simulated Steelport. Earth was destroyed. Aliens were real. And Johnny was…

Alive. He had to be. And I would find him, no matter who I had to punch to do it.


End file.
